
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap. Copyright No. 

8helf.£.^__\\ T 5" 




&^m^ 




WORKS ON LITERATURE 

BY 

HENRY S. PAircOAST 

Bn ITntroDuctfon to Bnglleb Xitcraturc. 

With maps, chronological tables, and study lists 
of representative works for collateral reading. 
556 pp. i6mo. $1.25 net. 
The Nation : "It treats the history of English litera- 
ture as closely connected with general history. The 
style is interesting, the conception broad and clear, ■ 
the biographical details nicely subordinated to mat- 
ters more important, and, as we said of the book in its 
earlier form, not even the dullest pupil can study it 
without feeling the historical and logical continuity 
of English Literature." 

•Representative ^Enallab literature. 

514 pp. Large i2mo. $1.60 net. 
Includes with a briefer and earlier form of the his- 
torical and critical matter of the Introduction the 
following selections (each complete): Chaucer: The 
Nonne Prestes Tale ; Good Counseil. Spenser : Pro- 
thalamion. Shakespeare : Merchant of Venice (entire). 
Bacon : Of Great Place ; Five Elizabethan Songs. 
Milton : L'Allegro ; II Penseroso. Dryden : Song for 
St. Cecilia's Day. Addison : Ned Softly the Poet ; 
Sir Roger at Church ; The Fine Lady's Journal. 
Pope: The Rape of the Lock. Burns: Poems. 
Wordsworth: Poems. Coleridge: Ancient Mariner. 
Scott: Poems. Lamb: Christ^s Hospital Five-and- 
Thirty Years Ago. Byron: Poems. Keats: Poems. 
Carlyle : On Robert Burns. Macaulay : On Samuel 
Johnson. Browning: Poems. Tennyson: Poems, etc. 

StanOar^ JEngllsb jpoems. 

74Q pp. i6mo. 

Pull, and usually complete, selections from the 

Principal English poets from Spenser to Tennyson, 
'he volume is intended primarily as a companion to 
the compiler's Introduction to English Literature. 
A few indispensable notes are added. 

Bn "ffntroDuctlon to Bmerlcan Xlterature. 

With study lists of works to be read, references, 

chronological tables, and portraits, 393 pp. i6mo. 

%\. 00 net. 

This book follows the main lines of the author's 

Introduction to English Literature. The special 

influence of our history upon our literature is shown, 

and the attention is chiefly concentrated on a limited 

number of typical authors and works, treated at some 

lengfth, 

HENRY HOLT & CO- 

ag W. 33d St., New York 378 Wabash Ave., Chicago 



STANDARD 

ENGLISH POEMS 



Speneer to ZEenn^eon 



SELECTED AND EDITED 

HENRY S. PANCOAST 




NEW YORK 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
1899 




asTasi89« 



1\ 




T3^ 




44334 

Copyright, 1899, 

BY 

HENRY HOLT & CO. 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 



•ECOND COPY, 











TO THE 

IRev. ^cbn Ikemper ^urpbi?, 2).2).t 

WHO TAUGHT ME LONG AGO TO DELIGHT IN THE MASTER POET OF 

ENGLAND, AND WHO HAS SINCE HELPED ME IN MORE WAYS THAN 

MAY BH HERE SET DOWN, 

THIS BOOK OF ENGLISH POETRY 

IS 

REVERENTLY AND AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 



PEEFACE. 

Not only is poetry one of the noblest and most up- 
lifting of the arts; it is peculiarly fitted, from one 
aspect at least, to be the art most universally en- 
Joyed. Few can hope to own — even to see — the 
greatest pictures or statues; their beauty must of 
necessity be monopolized by a country, or a class, 
while the elaborate requirements of performance keep 
much of the greatest music from the multitude; but 
the beauty of the greatest poems is spread for men^s 
delight almost as liberally as the wonders of dawn and 
sunset; it is almost as free as sunlight or the stars. 

Yet it is not unlikely that many of us are deceived 
by the very ease with which the greatest poetry can 
be obtained; it is not unlikely that many of us who 
would cross the Atlantic to see the master-works of 
Eaphael, and approach them in reverence and awe, 
would leave the master-works of Milton neglected 
on our shelves or glance over them with an easy self- 
assurance. It is easy to confuse the physical owner- 
ship of a book with the actual or spiritual posses- 
sion of it; it is easy to forget that, obtainable as 
poetry may seem to be, it is often made inaccessible 

iii 



IV PREFACE. 

to US by our own limitations, and that in our reading 
of it *' we receive but what we give." The truth is 
that an appreciation of poetry at once fine and 
liberal, capable of delighting in widely different 
kinds of excellence, and combining a delicate sus- 
ceptibility to beauty with a vigorous intellectual 
grasp ; — the truth is that such a high appreciation is 
rarely attained even among what are called the edu- 
cated classes. The first step is to recognize the diffi- 
culty of gaining this power. We shall then cease to 
regard great poetry as a means of casual amusement, 
and learn to approach it reverently, as one of the lofti- 
est of the arts; we shall come to realize the presump- 
tion and absurdity of facile and ignorant judgments, 
knowing that good taste in poetry is not merely a 
matter of nature but of nurture. I know of nothing, 
at least among the arts, that is fairly comparable to 
poetry as a means to general culture, but I am con- 
vinced that, available as it seems, this means is far 
too little used. In a vast number of cases poetry 
fails to exert its full influence, because so many 
never perceive that it is a serious and even exacting 
subject of study. There is a prevalent impression 
that if we do not ^Mike poetry," nothing can be 
done; and that, on the other hand, if we do "like" 
it, nothing further is required. Others again have a 
vague feeling that the pure enjoyment of a poem is 
marred by an endeavor to analyze and understand it; 
that, because it is possible to enjoy some poems with- 
out knowing what they mean, enjoyment and under- 
standing are in some way antagonistic. These fal- 



PREFACE. 



lacies or half-truths all tend to retard the true 
appreciation of poetry, and keep it out of the place 
it ought to hold. The power to take the greatest 
poems into our lives is almost invariably dependent 
upon a strenuous effort of mind and will, as well as upon 
the sympathetic response of our spirits. Poetry may 
speak from the heart and to the heart; it may be the 
apparently spontaneous expression of irrepressible feel- 
ing; but we must remember that it is also a difficult 
and highly technical art; that it is often the pro- 
foundest thought touched by emotion; and that it 
frequently demands for its interpretation both a sub- 
stantial basis of learning and an unusual penetration 
of mind. In a word, it is by the systematic and 
strenuous study of poetry, by sedulously training our- 
selves to view it in all its historic and human rela- 
tions, by broadening and deepening our appreciation 
until we learn to delight in all its rich variety, its 
wit, satire, cleverness, and depth of thought, as well 
as in its beauty, color, or haunting musical cadences, 
—it is only by this that we can hope to win from it 
those great benefits that it is so peculiarly fitted to 
bestow. 

I have tried to make a collection of English verse, 
which should serve as an introduction to such a 
serious and systematic study of one of the richest and 
noblest poetic literatures the world has produced. I 
have hoped to make a book which should promote 
the genuine love and appreciation of English poetry 
by promoting a fuller understanding of it; a book 
which' should furnish a convenient avenue of approach 



VI PREFACE. 

to poetry of many different styles and of many times. 
In this attempt I have kept before me a few simple 
and, as it seems to me, obvious principles. 

With a few exceptions, I have given only complete 
poems ; believing that the practice of misrepresenting 
an author by extracts or fragments of poems is un- 
just both to the poet and his reader; a bar to the 
fullest enjoyment, and a discouragement to any 
rational method of study. In the few cases in which 
I have departed from this rule, I have broken it in the 
letter rather than in the spirit. For instance, al- 
though selections are given from the Faerie Queene^ 
The Seasons, TJie Task, and Childe Harold, each of 
these poems has a looseness of structure which per- 
mits it to be fairly represented in this manner, if the 
selections are reasonably full and are carefully chosen 
and arranged. Three of these poems consist of a 
series of descriptive and meditative passages, each of 
which is practically complete in itself. In the 
Faerie Queene, the only one of these poems in which 
there is any approach to a continous narrative, I 
have connected the selections by a brief prose argu- 
ment and arranged them so as to preserve the con- 
tinuity of the story; I have also given in the notes 
the general scheme and purpose of the poem. At 
best the Faerie Queene is itself a gigantic fragment, 
marvellous in parts, but lacking in symmetrical pro- 
portion as a whole; this seems to justify the belief 
that Spenser can be more adequately represented by 
selections from his masterpiece than by some of his 
minor poems. On the other hand, poems of 'closer 



PREFACE. Vll 

narrative structure which were too long to be given 
complete, such as Paradise Lost or Marmion, had to 
be reluctantly omitted. 

Our literature is so rich in poetry that the chief 
perplexity which confronts the compiler of an Englisli 
anthology is not what to put in, but what to leave out. 
In the present instance my task has been greatly 
simplified by the distinct object I had in view. That 
object was to provide a general introduction to the 
study of English poetry, and I felt that this end 
could be gained only by complying as far as possible 
with two distinct and sometimes conflicting require- 
ments — that of individual excellence and of historic 
importance. The poems selected must have an in- 
trinsic interest or beauty, and they must have also an 
independent value as illustrations of the history of 
English poetry, or as examples of the various poetic 
forms. As my primary object was not simply to 
bring together the poems that I personally ad- 
mired, I have invariably preferred to follow the 
settled judgment of time rather than my individual 
preference. As a rule, however, my personal liking 
has been in accord with this general judgment, and I 
have been persuaded that the opinion which has been 
held by successive generations of critics and readers 
is, in a large majority of cases, the right one. Certain 
poems (such as "Go, Lovely Rose" or '* Shall I 
wasting in despair") have come to be generally 
accepted as representative, and the probabilities are 
that in such cases we may look in vain through the 
works of their authors for anything that will repre- 



Vlll PREFACE. 

sent them better. But even if this were not the case, 
the taste of an individual ought no.t to take prece- 
dence of the general verdict in a selection of this 
character; such poems should still be included, be- 
cause by common consent they are poems with which 
every fairly cultivated person is expected to be 
familiar. So far, therefore, from hesitating to in- 
clude a poem because it was famous and popular, its 
assured place in the literature has been a powerful 
argument for its admission. I could not, of course, 
give all the poems which a person of average cultiva- 
tion should know, but I have at least tried to give 
nothing but those poems which are, or ought to be, 
indispensable. 

The first requirement — that each poem should 
have an independent, intrinsic value — had to be 
reconciled with the second — that the poems should 
have a value as a whole by virtue of their historic 
continuity or tlieir representative character. In 
some cases choice became a compromise between the 
conflicting claims of these two requirements, and a 
work of superior intrinsic merit had to be excluded, 
because it threw the book out of proportion, or 
because it had to make way for some work inferior in 
purely poetic value, but indispensable from the historic 
point of view. On the same principle the best 
example of an inferior class of verse might present 
claims for admission that could not be safely ignored. 

My endeavor has been to make the book useful to 
the student of poetry not only by a chronological 
arrangement, but also by an intelligent division and 



PREFACE. IX 

grouping of the poems. The strongly marked historic 
periods are indicated by the main divisions of the 
book: within these divisions the selections have been 
grouped under the various authors of the period or 
under an especial poetic form, as the case seemed 
to require. So far as this arrangement allowed, the 
selections are given in their chronological order as 
nearly as it could be ascertained. The historical side 
has also been emphasized by giving with the text of 
each poem the name and dates of its author, and the 
date, or approximate date, of its composition or first 
publication, with the name, in the latter case, of the 
book in which it first appeared. This has been 
supplemented by briefly indicating in the notes the 
general relation which the poem and its auther hold 
to literary history. Formal biography has been kept 
within the briefest limits or dispensed with altogether, 
as the outward events of an author's life can be readily 
found elsewhere, and as there was no space for any- 
thing beyond the driest summary. In a few cases, 
where I had treated the matter in my Introductio7i to 
English Literature, I have referred to what I had 
already said rather than repeat it in an abbreviated 
form. 

In the annotations I have tried to give such help as 
an average reader would be likely to require. The 
ideal note-maker — if there be any such — avoids no 
difficulty on the one hand, and intrudes nothing 
irrelevant or superfluous on the other, but I am fully 
sensible that to do this is to steer an almost impossible 
course. Frankly, while I regard notes as a necessity 



X PREFACE. 

in a book of this character, I regret the conditions 
that make them indispensable. When chapels are 
churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces, 
every school and every household will be furnished 
with an adequate library ; every teacher of English 
will train his pupils in the scholarly use of books ; 
and every pupil will have enough leisure and enough 
love of learning to be his own commentator. Until 
then, I fear that readers must be told many things 
which they could with great pleasure and profit find 
out for themselves. 

I have endeavored to give an accurate and reliable 
text iu conformity with that of the best editions. In 
a very few instances I have ventured to depart from 
the punctuation of a standard edition, or to adopt 
the reading of one that seemed to me better in that 
particular instance, although less authoritative on the 
whole. The spelling of the old ballads has been left 
untouched, but in some of the comparatively modern 
poems where the differences were trifling, the spelling 
and capitalization have been made to conform more 
nearly to the present usage. 

My obligations to others are so great and various 
that specific acknowledgment has not always been 
practicable or possible. The material for the notes 
has been drawn from many sources, and I have freely 
availed myself of the mass of comment that has grown 
up about our great classics. In many cases, where 
the notes dealt with matters so familiar that they 
may be considered common property, it seemed 
unnecessary to refer to the long line of editors who 



PREFACE. XI 

had furnished the same obvious informatiou, but 
wherever I could trace my indebtedness to any par- 
ticular source, especially if it were a matter of opinion 
or interpretation, it has been duly noted. 

Beyond this, I am glad to take this opportunity of 
acknowledging the help I have received from many 
quarters in the difficult duty of selection. The 
number of those who have shown a kindly and prac- 
tical interest in the work is so great that I must 
content myself with this general expression of appre- 
ciation. 

For obvious reasons I have thought it desirable to 
exclude poems by living authors. I have done this, in 
spite of many temptations, except in a single instance. 
I trust that this one lapse will need no justification, 
and that the impulse which led me to conclude this 
collection of the glories of English poetry with Kip- 
ling's Recessional will be understood and pardoned. 

Germantown, July 5, 1899. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Preface i-xi 



BALLADS. 

Chevy Chase 1 

Sir Patrick Spens 11 

Waly, Waly, love be bonny 13 

The Twa Sisters o' Binnorie 14 

Bonnie George Campbell 18 

Helen of Kirconnel 19 



SPENSER TO DRYDEN: 

SPENSER. 

The Faerie Queene (Selections) 21 

The Courtier (from Mother Hubherd's Tale) .... 53 

Sonnet XL (from Amoretii) 54 

ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

LYLY. 
Apelles' Song 56 

GREENE. 
Content 56 

MARLOWE. 
The Passionate Shepherd to his Love 57 

DEKKER. 
O Sweet Content 58 

xiii 



XIV CONTENTS 

T. HEYWOOD. 

PAGE 

Good Morrow 59 

CAMPION. 

To Lesbia 59 

The Armour of Innocence 60 

Fortuuati Niuiium 61 

J. FLETCHER. 

Song of the Priest of Pan 63 

Song to Pan 64 

BEAUMONT. 

On the Life of Man 65 

On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey 65 

WOTTON. 

The Character of a Happy Life 66 

RALEIGH (?). 

The Nymph's Reply to the Passionate Shepherd 67 

JONSON. 

To the Memory of Shakspeare 68 

Simplex Munditiis 70 

The Triumph of Charis 71 

Song, To Cynthia 72 

SHAKESPEARE. 

Silvia 73 

Under the Greenwood Tree 73 

O mistress mine, where are you roaming? 74 

Take, oh take, those lips away 74 

Hark, Hark the Lark 75 

Dirge 75 

A Sea Dirge. 76 

Ariel's Song 76 



ELIZABETHAN SONNETS. 

SIDNEY. 

Sonnet XXXI 77 

Sonnet XXXIX, On Sleep 77 



CONTENTS XV 
DANIEL. 

PAGE 

Sonnet LI, To Delia 78 

DRAYTON. 

Sonnet LXI 79 

DRUMMOND. 

On Sleep 79 

SHAKESPEARE. 

Sonnet XXIX ("When, in disgrace," etc.) 80 

Sonnet XXX (" When to the sessions," etc.) 80 

Sonnet XXXIII (" Full many a glorious morning," etc.) . 81 

Sonnet LX ("Like as the waves," etc.) 81 

Sonnet LXXIII ("That time of year," etc.) 82 

Sonnet CXVI (" Let me not to the marriage," etc.) 82 

DONNE. 

Sonnet X, On Death 83 

DRAYTON. ^ 

Agincourt * 83 

SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY SONGS. 

DONNE. 

An Elegy upon the Death of the Lady Markham 88 

A Valediction Forbidding Mourning 90 

Song 91 

A Hymn to God the Father 93 

HERBERT. 

Vertne. 93 

ThePulley 94 

TheElixir 95 

TheCollar 96 

VAUGHAN. 

The Retreate 97 

Departed Friends , 98 

WITHER. 

The Author's Resolution in a Sonnet 99 



XVI CONTENTS 

COWLEY. 

PAGE 

AVote , 101 

The Grasshopper 102 

SHIRLEY. 
ADiige 103 

CAREW. 
Disdain Returned 104 

SUCKLING. 
Orsames' Song 104 

LOVELACE. 

To Lucasta on Going to the Wars 105 

To Althea from Prison 106 

HERRICK. 

Argument to Hesperides 107 

Corinna's Going A-Maying 107 

To Primroses Filled with Morning Dew 110 

To the Virgins, to make much of Time Ill 

To Daffodils Ill 

The Hag 112 

WALLER. 

On a Girdle 113 

Song 113 

On the Foregoing Divine Poems 114 

MILTON. 

L' Allegro 115 

II Penseroso 119 

Song, Sweet Echo (from Gomus) 124 

Song, Sabriua Fair (from Gomus) 125 

Lycidas 126 

Sonnet, On his having arrived at the age of twenty-three. 131 

Sonnet, On the Late Massacre in Piedmont 132 

Sonnet, On His Blindness 132 

Sonnet, To Cyriack Skinner 133 

MARVELL. 
The Garden 134 



CONTENTS XVI] 

DRY DEN TO THOMSON. 
DRYDEN. 

PAGE 

Mac-Flecknoe 137 

Achitophel (from Absalom and Achitophel) 143 

A Soug for St. Cecilia's Day 145 

Alexander's Feast ; or, The Power of Music 147 

Under Mr. Milton's Picture 190 

PRIOR. 

To a Child of Quality Five Years Old 154 

A Better Answer 155 

ADDISON. 
The Spacious Firmament 156 

GAY. 

Fable XVIII, The Painter who Pleased Nobody and 

Everybody 157 

On a Lap-dog 159 

POPE. 

The Rape of the Lock 160 

Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady 184 

Universal Prayer 187 

Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot (Selection) 188 

THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

THOMSON. 

Spring (from The Seasons) 195 

Summer (from The 8easo7is) 198 

Autumn (from 2^he Seasons) 200 

Winter (from The Seasons) 203 

Rule Britannia 206 

COLLINS. 

Ode to Evening 207 

The Passions 209 

Ode written in the beginning of the year 1746 213 

Dirge in Cymbeline 213 



Xviil CONTENTS 

GRAY. 

PAGE 

Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College 214 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard 217 

The Bard 223 

GOLDSMITH. 

The Deserted Village 227 

CHATTERTON. 

The Minstrel's Roundelay 240 

The Ballade of Charitie 242 

COWPER. 

The Task (Selections) 245 

On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture out of Norfolk. . . 257 

On the Loss of the Royal George 261 

The Castaway 262 

BLAKE. 

To the Muses 264 

To the Evening Star 265 

Introduction (from Songs of Innocence) 265 

The Lamb. 266 

Night 267 

To the Divine Image 268 

On Another's Sorrow 269 

The Tiger 270 

Ah! Sunflower 271 

BURNS. 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 272 

To a Mouse 279 

To a Mountain Daisy 280 

Tarn O'Shanter 282 

Bruce's Address to his Army at Banuockburn 289 

The Banks of Doon 290 

A Red, Red Rose 291 

Is there for Honest Poverty 291 

O wert thou in the cauld blast 293 

WORDSWORTH 

Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey 293 

Expostulation and Reply 298 

The Tables Turned 299 



CONTENTS XIX 



PAGE 

300 



Three years sbe grew ' 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways oO>i 

Michael : a pastoral poem 302 

My heart leaps up 317 

The Solitary Reaper oU 

Ode, Intimations of Immortality 318 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 324 

She was a phantom of delight 325 

Ode to Duty 326 

SONNETS. 

Written in London, September, 1802 328 

London. 1802 328 

When I have borne in memory 329 

Composed upon Westminster Bridge, 1802 329 

Composed upon the Beach near Calais, 1802 330 

*• The world is too much with us " 330 

COLERIDGE. 

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 331 

The Good Great Man 353 

Youth and Age 354 

Work without Hope 355 

SOUTHEY. 

The Battle of Blenheim 356 

My days among the dead are past 358 

JOSEPH BLANCO WHITE. 

Sonnet To Night 360 

SCOTT. 

Harold's Song to Rosabelle (from Lay of the Last Min- 

g(^gl 360 

Ballad, Alice Brand (from Lady of the Lake) 362 

Edmund's Song (from Rokehy) ... - 366 

Song, A Weary Lot is Thine (from Rokehy) ... 368 

Song, Allan- A-Dale (from Rokehy) 369 

Song, The Cavalier (from Rokehy) 370 

Hunting Song 372 

Jock of Hazeldean ^^ 

Madge Wildfire's Song 374 

Border Ballad , 375 

County Guy ^^^ 



XX CONTENTS 

CAMPBELL. 

PAGE 

Ye Mariners of England 376 

Hohenlindeu 378 

Battle of the Baltic 379 

Song, Men of England 381 

Song, To the Evening Star 382 

MOORE. 

As slow our ship 383 

The Harp that once through Tara's Halls 384 

BYRON. 

Stanzas for Music 385 

She walks in beauty 386 

Sonnet On Chillon (Introduction to The Prisoner of Ghiilon) 387 

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (Selections) 388 

Don Juan (Selections) 403 

SHELLEY. 

Ode to the West Wind 406 

To a Skylark 409 

The Cloud 413 

Adonais 416 

Time 437 

To 437 

To Night 437 

A Lament 439 

To 439 

KEATS. 

The Eve of St. Agnes 440 

Ode to a Nightingale 455 

Ode on a Grecian Urn • 458 

To Autumn 460 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci 461 

SONNETS. 

On First Looking into Chapman's Homer 463 

Sonnet r"|To one who has been long," etc.) 464 

On the Grasshopper and Cricket 464 

Last Sonnet 465 

HUNT. 

To the Grasshopper and the Cricket 465 



CONTENTS XXI 

LANDOR. 

PAGE 

Mild is the parting year, and sweet 466 

Ah, what avails the sceptered race 466 

Yes; I write verses 467 

To Robert Browning 468 

Introduction to the Last Fruit Off an Old Tree 468 

PROCTER. 
A Petition to Time 468 

H. COLERIDGE. 
Song 469 

LAMB. 
To Hester 470 

HOOD. 

The Death Bed 471 

The Bridge of Sighs 472 



VICTORIAN VERSE, 

MACAULAY. 
Battle of Ivry 477 

TENNYSON. 

Locksley Hall 481 

Ulysses 493 

The Epic 495 

Morte d'Arthur 497 

Sir Galahad 506 

Break, Break, Break 509 

Tears, Idle Tears (from The Princess) 509 

Bugle Song (from The Princess) 510 

In Memoriam (Selection) 511 

Maud (Selection) 512 

Crossing the Bar 515 

BROWNING. 

My Last Duchess 516 

Song (from Pijipa Pusses) 518 

Home Thoughts, from Abroad 518 

The Guardian Angel 519 



XXll CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Andrea Del Sarto 521 

Piospice 529 

Rabbi Ben Ezra 530 

Epilogue (froni Asolando) 538 

E. B. BROWNING. 

A Musical Instrument 539 

SONNETS. 

Cheerfulness Taught by Reason 541 

The Prospect 541 

Work 542 

Sonnet I (from Sonnets from the Portuguese) 542 

Sonnet VI (from Sonnets from the Portuguese) 543 

Sonnet XXXV (from Sonnets from the Portuguese) 543 

Sonnet XLIII (from Sonnets from the Portuguese) 544 

KINGSLEY. 

Song (from The Saints' Tragedy) 544 

The Three Fishers 545 

The Sands of Dee 546 

Clear and Cool 547 

CLOUGH. 

Qua cursum ventus 548 

With whom is no variableness neither shadow of turning. 549 

Say not, the struggle naught availeth 549 

The Stream of Life 550 

M. ARNOLD. 

Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse 551 

Geist's Grave 558 

Dover Beach 560 

Lines written in Kensington Garden 562 

Self Dependence 563 

Shakspeare 564 

ROSSETTI. 

The Blessed Damosel 565 

The Sea Limits 570 

SONNETS. 

Sybillft Palmifera 571 

Sonnet XIX, Silent Noon 571 



CONTENTS XXlll 



PAGE 

Sonnet LXIII, Inclusiveness 572 

Sonnet XCVII, A Superscription 573 

W. MORRIS. 

An Apology (from The Earthly Paradise) 573 

The Day of Days 575 

Drawing Near the Light 576 

KIPLING. 

Recessional 576 

Notes 579 

Index of Titles 743 



STANDARD ENGLISH POEMS 



PART FIRST 

BALLADS 

(of various and uncertain dates) 

CHEVY CHASE 
(Sometimes called Tlie Hunting of the Cheviot) 

The Perse owt off Northombarlonde, 

and a vowe to God mayd he 
That he wold hunte in the mowntayns 

off Chyviat within days thre, 
5 In the magger of donghte Dogles, 

and all that ever with him be. 

The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat 

he sayd he w^old kyll, and carry them away: 
^ Be my f eth,' sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn, 
10 * I wyll let that hontyng yf that I may.' 

Then the Perse owt off Banborowe cam, 

with him a myghtee meany, 
With fifteen hondrith archares bold off blood and 
bone, 

the wear chosen owt of shyars thre. 



BALLADS 

15 This begane on a Monday at morn, 
in Cheviat the hillys so he; 
The chylde may rue that ys unborn, 
it wos the more pitte. 

The dryvars thorowe the woodes went, 
20 for to reas the dear; 

Bomen byckarte uppone the bent 
with ther browd aros cleare. 



Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went, 
on every syde shear; 
25 Greahondes thorowe the grevis glent, 
for to kyll thear dear. 

This begane in Chyviat the hyls abone, 

yerly on a Monnyn-day; 
Be that it drewe to the oware off none, 
30 a hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay. 

The blewe a mort uppone the bent, 

the semblyde on sydis shear; 
To the quyrry then the Perse went, 

to se the bryttlynge off the deare. 

35 He sayd, *It was the Duglas promys 
this day to met me hear; 
But I wyste he wolde f aylle, verament ; ' 
a great oth the Perse swear. 

At laste a squyar off Northamberlonde 
40 lokyde at his hand full ny ; 

He was war a the doughetie Doglas commynge, 
with him a myghtte meany. 



CHEVY CHASE 3 

Both with spear, bylle, and brande, 
yt was a myghtti sight to se; 
45 Hardyar men, both off hart nor hands, 
wear not in Cristiante. 

The wear twenti hondrith spear-men good, 

withoute any feale; 
The wear borne along be the watter a Twyde, 
50 yth bowndes of Tividale. 

* Leave of the brytlyng of the dear,' he sayd, 

* and to your boys loek ye tayk good hede ; 
For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne 

had ye never so mickle nede.' 

55 The dougheti Dogglas on a stede, 
he rode alle his men beforne; 
His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede; 
a boldar barne was never born. 

' Tell me whos men ye ar', he says, 
60 ^ or whos men that ye be : 

Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Chyviat 
chays, 
in the spyt of myn and of me.' 

The first mane that ever him an answear mayd, 
yt was the good lord Perse: 

* We wyll not tell the whoys men we ar,' he says, 
66 ' nor whose men that we be ; 

But we wyll hounte hear in this chays, 
in the spyt of thyne and of the. 

^ The f attiste hartes in all Chyviat 
70 we have kyld, and oast to carry them away : ' 
' Be my troth,' sayd the doughete Dogglas agayn, 

* therf or the ton of us shall de this day.' 



BALLADS 

Then sayd the doughte Doglas 
unto the lord Perse: 
75 * To kyll alle thes giltles men, 
alas, it wear great pitte! 



* But, Perse, thowe art a lord of lande, 

I am a yerle callyd within my contre; 
Let all our men uppone a parti stande, 
80 and do the battell off the and of me.' 



'ISTowe Cristes cors on his crowne,' sayd the lord 
Perse, 

'who-so-ever ther-to says nay; 
Be my troth, doughtte Doglas,' he says, 

*thow shalt never se that day. 



85 ^Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France, 
nor for no man of a woman born, 
But, and fortune be my chance, 
I dar met him, on man for on.' 



Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde, 
90 Richard Wytharyngton was his nam; 

*It shall never be told in Sothe- Ynglonde,' he 
says, 
' to Kyng Herry the Fourth for sham. 



' I wat youe byn great lordes twaw, 
I am a poor squyar of lande: 
95 I wylle never se my captayne fyght on a fylde, 
and stande my selffe and loocke on. 
But whylle I may my weppone welde, 
I wylle not f ayle both hart and hande.' 



CHEVY CHASE O 

That day, that day, that dreadfull day! 
100 the first fit here I fynde; 

And youe wyll here any mor a the hountyng a the 
Chyviat, 
yet ys ther mor behynde. 

The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent, 
ther hartes wer good yenoughe; 
105 The first off arros that the shote off, 
seven skore spear-men the sloughe. 

Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent, 

a captayne good yenoughe. 
And that was sene verament, 
110 for he wrought horn both woo and wouche. 

The Dogglas parfyd his ost in thre, 

lyk a cheffe chef ten off pryde ; 
With suar spears off myghtte tre, 

the cum in on every syde: 

115 Thrughe our Yngglyshe archery 

gave many a wounde fulle wyde; 
Many a doughete the garde to dy, 
which ganyde them no pryde. 

The Ynglyshe men let ther boys be, 
120 and pulde owt brandes thet wer brighte; 
It was a hevy syght to se 

bryght swordes on basnites lyght. 

Thorowe ryche male and myneyeple, 
many sterne the strocke done streght; 
125 Many a freyke that was fulle fre, 
ther undar foot dyd lyght. 



\ BALLADS 

"At last the Duglas and the Perse met, 

lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne; 
The swapte together tylle the both swat, 
130 with swordes that wear of fyn myllan. 

Thes worthe freckys for to fyght, 

ther-to the wear fulle fayne, 
Tylle the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente, 

as ever dyd heal or rayn. 

135 ' Yelde the, Perse,' sayde the Doglas, 

* and i feth I shalle the brynge 
Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis 

of Jamy our Skottish kynge. 

' Thou shalte have thy ransom f re, 
140 I hight the hear this thinge; 

For the manfullyste man yet art thowe 
that ever I conqueryd in filde fighttynge.' 

* Nay,' sayd the lord Perse, 

* I told it the bef orne, 

145 That I wolde never yeldyde be 
to no man of a woman born/ 

With that ther cam an arrowe hastely, 

forthe off a myghtte wane; 
Hit bathe strekene the yerle Duglas 
150 in at the brest-bane. 

Thorowe lyvar and longes bathe 

the sharpe arrowe ys gane. 
That never after in all his lyffe-days 

he spake mo wordes but ane : 
That was, * Fyghte ye, my myrry men, whyllys 
ye may, 
156 for my lyff-days ben gan/ 



CHEVY CHASE 7 

The Perse leanyde on his brande, 

and sawe the Duglas de; 
He tooke the dede mane by the hande, 
160 and sayd, ^ Wo ys me for the ! 

* To have savyde thy lyffe, I wolde have partyde 
with 

my landes for years thre, 
For a better man, of hart nare of hande, 

was nat in all the north contre.' 

165 Off all that se a Skottishe knyght, 

was callyd Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry ; 
He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght, 
he spendyd a spear, a trusti tre. 

He rod uppone a corsiare 
170 throughe a hondrith archery; 

He never stynttyde, nar never blane, 
tylle he cam to the good lord Perse. 

He set uppone the lorde Perse 
a dynte that was full soare; 
175 With a suar spear of a myghtte tre 

clean thorow the body he the Perse ber, 

A the tothar syde that a man myght se 

a large cloth-yard and mare : 
Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiante 
180 then that day slan wear ther. 

An archar off N^orthomberlonde 

say slean was the lorde Perse; 
He bar a bende bowe in his hand, 

was made off trusti tre. 



8 BALLADS 

185 An arow, that a cloth-yarde was lang, 
to the harde stele halyde he; 
A dynt that was both sad and soar 
he sat on Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry. 

The dynt yt was both sad and sar, 
190 that he of Monggomberry sete; 

The swane-fethars that his arrowe bar 
with his hart-blood the wear wete. 

Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle, 

but still in stour dyd stand, 
Heawyng on yche othar, whylle the myghte dre, 
19G with many a balfuU brande. 

This battell begane in Chyviat 

an owar befor the none, 
And when even-songe bell was rang, 
200 the battell was nat half done. 



The tocke ... on ethar hande 

be the lyght of the mone; 
Many hade no strenght for to stande, 

in Chyviat the hillys abon. 

205 Of fifteen hondrith archa'rs of Ynglonde 
went away but seventi and thre; 
Of twenti hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde, 
but even five and fifti. 



But all wear slayne Cheviat within; 
210 the hade no strengthe to stand on hy; 
The chylde may rue that ys unborne, 
it was the mor pitte. 



CHEVY CHASE 

Thear was slayne, withe the lord Perse, 
Sir Johan of Agerstone, 
215 Ser Kogar, the hinde Hartly, 

Ser Wyllyam, the bolde Hearone. 

Ser Jorg, the worthe Loumle, 
a knyghte of great renowen, 
Ser Raff, the ryche Rugbe, 
220 with dyntes wear beaten dowene. 

For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, 

that ever he slayne shulde be; 
For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, 

yet he knyled and fought on hys kny. 

225 Ther was slayne, with the dougeti Duglas, 
Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry, 
Ser Davy Lydale, that worthe was, 
his sistar's son was he. 

Ser Charls a Murre in that place, 
230 that never a foot wolde fle; 

Ser Hewe Maxwelle, a lorde he was, 
with the Doglas dyd he dey. 

So on the morrowe the mayde them byears 
off birch and hassell so gray; 
235 Many wedous, with wepyng tears, 
cam to fache ther makys away. 

Tivydale may carpe off care, 

ISTorthomberlond may mayk great mon. 
For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear, 
240 on the March-parti shall never be non. 



10 BALLADS 

Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe, 

to Jamy the Skottische kynge. 
That dougheti Dugias, lyff-tenant of the Marches, 

he lay slean Chyviot within. 

245 His handdes dyd he weal and wryng, 
he sayd, ' Alas, and woe ys me ! 
Such an othar captayn Skotland within/ 
he sayd, ^ ye-f eth shuld never be/ 

Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone, 
250 till the fourth Harry our kynge, 

That lord Perse, lyff-tenante of the Marchis, 
he lay slayne Chyviat within. 

* God have merci on his solle,' sayde Kyng Harry, 

' good lord, yf thy will it be ! 
I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde,' he 
sayd, 
256 ' as good as ever was he : 

But, Perse, and I brook my lyffe, 
thy deth well quyte shall be.^ 

As our noble kynge mayd his avowe, 
260 lyke a noble prince of renowen, 
For the deth of the lord Perse 

he dyde the battell of Hombyll-down ; 

Wher syx and thritte Skottishe knyghtes 
on a day wear beaten down: 
265 Glendale glyterryde on ther armor bryght, 
over castille, towar, and town. 

This was the hontynge off the Cheviat, 

that tear begane this spurn; 
Old men that knowen the grounde well yenoughe 
270 call it the battell of Otterburn. 



I 



SIR PATRICK SPENS 11 

At Otterburn begane this spume 

uppone a Monnynday; 
Ther was the doughte Doglas slean, 

the Perse never went away. 

275 Ther was never a tym on the Marche-partes 
sen the Doglas and the Perse met, 
But yt ys mervele and the rede blude ronne not 
as the reane doys in the stret. 

Jhesue Crist our balys bete, 
280 and to the blys us brynge! 

Thus was the hountynge of the Chivyat : 
God send us alle good endyng! 



SIR PATRICK SPENS 

(From Percy's Beliqiies, piib. 1765. Date uncertain, but 
popular ballad in 1580) 

The King sits in Dumferling toune, 

Drinking the blude-reid wine; 
* O whar will I get guid sailor. 

To sail this schip of mine ? ' 



5 Up and spak an eldern knicht, 
Sat at the king's richt kne : 
* Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor, 
That sails upon the se.' 

The king has written a braid letter, 
10 And signed it wi his hand. 

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, 
Was walking on the sand. 



12 BALLADS 

The first line that Sir Patrick red, 
A loud lauch lauched he; 
15 The next line that Sir Patrick red 
The teir blinded his ee. 

' O wha is this has don this deid, 

This ill deid don to me, 
To send me out this time o' the yeir, 
20 To sail upon the se ! 

*Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all. 
Our guid schip sails the morne : ' 

* O say na sae, my master deir, 
For I feir a deadlie storme. 



25 * Late late yestreen I saw the new moone, 
Wi the auld moone in hir arme. 
And I feir, I feir, my deir master. 
That we will cum to harme.' 



O our Scots nobles wer richt laith 
30 To wut their cork-heild schoone; 
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd, 
Thair hats they swam aboone. 

O langr, lang may their ladies sit, 
Wi thair fans into their hand, 
35 Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence 
Cum sailing to the land. 

O lang, lang may the ladies stand, 
Wi thair gold kems in their hair. 
Waiting for thair ain deir lords, 
40 For they '11 se thame na mair. 




WALY, WALY, LOVE BE BONNIE 13 

Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour, 

It's fiftie fadom deip, 
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, 

Wi the Scots lords at his feit. 



WALY, WALY, LOVE BE BONNIE 

(From Allingham's Ballad Book, 1864) 

O Waly, waly, up the bank, 

waly, waly, doun the brae, 
And waly, waly, yon burn-side. 

Where I and my love wer wont to gae! 
5 I lean'd my back unto an aik, 

1 thocht it was a trustie tree. 

But first it bow'd and syne it brak', — 
Sae my true love did lichtlie me. 

O waly, waly, but love be bonnie 
10 A little time while it is new! 
But when its auld it waxeth cauld, 

And fadeth awa' like the morning dew. 
O wherefore should I busk my heid. 
Or wherefore should I kame my hair? 
15 For my true love has me forsook, 

And says he '11 never lo'e me mair. 

Noo Arthur's seat sail be my bed. 

The sheets sail neir be press'd by me; 

Saint Anton's well sail be my drink; 
20 Since my true love's forsaken me. 

Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 
And shake the green leaves off the tree? 

O gentle death, whan wilt thou come? 
For of my life I am wearie. 



14 BALLADS 

25 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, 
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie, 
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry; 

But my love's heart grown cauld to me. 
Whan we cam' in by Glasgow toun, 
30 We were a comely sicht to see ; 
My love was clad in the black velvet, 
An' I mysel' in cramasie. 

But had I wist before I kiss'd 
That love had been so ill to win, 
35 I'd lock'd my heart in a case o' goud, 
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. 
Oh, oh ! if my young babe were born. 

And set upon the nurse's knee; 
And I mysel' were dead and gane, 
40 And the green grass growing over me ! 



THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE 

(From the same) 

There were twa sisters sat in a bow'r ; 

(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
A knight cam' there, a noble wooer. 

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

5 He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring, 
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing, 
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

The eldest she was vexed sair, 
10 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 

And sair envied her sister fair. 

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 



THE TWA SISTERS 0' BINNORIE 15 

Upon a morning fair and clear, 
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
15 She cried upon her sister dear, 

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

* O sister, sister, tak' my hand,' 

(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 

* And let's go down to the river-strand,' 
20 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 



She's ta'en her by the lily hand, 

(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
And down they went to the river-strand 

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 



25 The youngest stood upon a stane, 
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
The eldest cam' and pushed her in, 
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

' O sister, sister, reach your hand ! ' 
30 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 

* And ye sail be heir o' half my land ' — 

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

* O sister, reach me but your glove ! ' 

(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
85 *And sweet William sail be your love' — 
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam, 

(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
Till she cam' to the mouth o' yon mill-dam, 
40 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie, 



16 BALLADS 

Out then cam' the miller's son 

(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
And saw the fair maid swimmin' in, 

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

46 ' father, father, draw your dam ! ' 
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
* There's either a mermaid or a swan,' 
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

The miller quickly drew the dam, 
50 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 

And there he found a drown'd woman, 
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

Round about her middle sma' 

(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 

55 There went a gouden girdle bra' 

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

All amang her yellow hair 
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
A string o' pearls was twisted rare, 
60 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

On her fingers lily-white, 

(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
The jewel-rings were shining bright. 

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

65 And by there cam' a harper fine, 
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
Harped to nobles when they dine, 
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 



THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE 17 

And when he looked that lady on, 
70 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 

He sigh'd and made a heavy moan, 
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

He's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair, 
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
75 And wi' them strung his harp sae rare. 
By the bonny mill-dams o^ Binnorie. 

He went into her father's hall, 

(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
And played his harp before them all, 
80 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

And sune the harp sang loud and clear, 

(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
Tareweel, my father and mither dear!' 

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

85 And neist when the harp began to sing, 
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
'Twas ' Fareweel, sweetheart ! ' said the string. 
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

And then as plain as plain could be, 
90 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 

' There sits my sister wha drowned me ! 
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.' 



18 BALLADS 



BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL 

(From Motherwell's Minstrelsy, 1827. Date of ballad 
uncertain) 

Hie upon Hielands, 

And low upon Tay, 
Bonnie George Campbell 

Rade out on a day. 
5 Saddled and bridled 

And gallant rade he; 
Hame cam his gude horse, 

But never cam he! 

Out cam his auld mither 
10 Greeting fu' sair, 

And out cam his bonnie bride 

Kivin' her hair. 
Saddled and bridled 
And booted rade he; 
15 Toom hame cam the saddle 
But never cam he! 

"My meadow hes green, 
And my corn is unshorn; 

My barn is to big, 
20 And my babie's unborn." 

Saddled and bridled 
And booted rade he; 

Toom hame cam the saddle. 
But never cam he. 



HELEN OF KIRCONNELL 19 

HELEN OF KIRCONNELL 

Part Second 

(From Scott's Border Minstrelsy, 1802-3) 

I wish I were where Helen lies! 
Night and day on me she cries; 
O that I were where Helen lies, 
On fair Kirconnell Lee! 



5 Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 
And curst the hand that fired the shot. 
When in my arms burd Helen dropt. 
And died to succour me! 



O think na ye my heart was sair, 
10 When my love dropt down and spak nae mair! 
There did she swoon wi' mickle care 
On fair Kirconnell Lee. 



As I went down the water-side. 
None but my foe to be my guide, 
15 None but my foe to be my guide. 
On fair Kirconnell Lee! 



I lighted down, my sword did draw, 
I hacked him in pieces sma^ 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 
20 For her sake that died for me. 



O, Helen fair, beyond compare! 
I'll make a garland of thy hair. 
Shall bind my heart for evermairp 
Until the day I die. 



20 BALLADS 

25 O that I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and day on me she cries; 
Out of my bed she bids me rise, 
Says, " Haste, and come to me ! " 

Helen fair! O Helen chaste! 
30 If I were with thee, I were blest. 

Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest. 
On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

1 wish my grave were growing green, 
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een 

35 And I in Helen's arms lying. 
On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

I wish I were where Helen lies! 
Night and day on me she cries; 
And I am weary of the skies, 
40 For her sake that died for me. 



PART SECOND 
SPENSER TO DRYDEN. 

EDMUND SPENSER 

Gir. 1552-1599 

THE FAERIE QUEENE 

(From the First Book, which contains The Legend of the 
Knight of the Bed Crosse, or of Holinesse, published with 
Bks. II. and III , 1590) 

I. 

Lo! I, the man whose Muse whylome did maske, 
As time her taught, in lowly Shephards weeds, 
Am now enforst, a farre unfitter taske. 
For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine oaten reeds. 
And sing of knights and ladies gentle deeds ; 5 

Whose praises having slept in silence long, 
Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds 
To blazon broade emongst her learned throng: 
Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my 
song. 

II. 

Helpe then, holy virgin, chiefe of nyne, 10 

Thy weaker novice to performe thy will; 
Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne 
The antique roUes, which there lye hidden still. 
Of Faerie knights, and fayrest Tanaquill, 
Whom that most noble Briton Prince so long 15 
Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill, 
That I must rue his undeserved wrong: 
O, helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong ! 



SPENSER TO DRYDEN 



III. 



And thou, most dreaded impe of highest Jove, 
Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart 20 

At that good knight so cunningly didst rove. 
That glorious fire it kindled in his hart; 
Lay now thy deadly heben bowe apart, 
And with thy mother mylde come to mine ayde; 
Come, both; and with you bring triumphant Mart, 
In loves and gentle jollities arraid, 26 

After his murderous spoyles and bloudie rage all ay d. 

IV. 

And with them eke, O Goddesse heavenly bright, 
Mirrour of grace, and maiestie divine. 
Great ladie of the greatest Isle, whose light 30 

Like Phoebus lampe throughout the world doth 

shine. 
Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne. 
And raise my thoughtes, too humble and too vile. 
To thinke of that true glorious type of thine. 
The argument of mine afilicted stile : 35 

The which to heare vouchsafe, O dearest Dread, a 
while. 

CANTO I. 

The patron of true Holmesse, 
Foule Errour doth defeate ; 

Hypocrisie, him to entrappe, 
Doth to his home entreate. 

I. 

A gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine, 
Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde. 
Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did remaine. 
The cruell markes of many a bloody fielde; 40 



EDMUND SPENSER 23 

Yet armes till that time did he never wield: 
His angry steede did chide his foming bitt, 
As much disdayning to the curbe to yield : 
Full iolly knight he seemd, and f aire did sitt, 44 
As one for knighty giusts and fierce encounters fitt. 

II. 

And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore, 
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, 
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore, 
And dead, as living ever, him ador'd: 
Upon his shield the like was also scor'd, 50 

For soveraine hope, which in his helpe he had, 
Eight, faithfull, true he was in deede and word; 
But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad; 
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad. 

III. 

Upon a great adventure he was bond, 55 

That greatest Gloriana to him gave. 
That greatest glorious Queene of Faery lond. 
To winne him worshippe, and her grace^ to have, 
Which of all earthly thinges, he most did crave : 
And ever as he rode, his hart did earne, 
To prove his puissance in battell brave 
Upon his foe, and his new force to learne ; 
Upon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearne. 



60 



IV. 



A lovely Ladie rode him faire beside. 
Upon a lowly asse more white then snow;^ 
Yet she much whiter ; but the same did hide 
Under a vele, that wimpled was full low; 
And over all a blacke stole shee did throw: 



65 



24 SPENSEK TO DRYDEN 

As one that inly mournd, so was she sad, 
And heavie sate upon her palfry slow; 70 

Seemed in heart some hidden care she had; 
And by her in a line a milke-white lambe she lad. 



V. 



So pure and innocent, as that same lambe, 
She was in life and every vertuous lore; 
And by descent from royall lynage came 75 

Of ancient kinges and queenes, that had of yore 
Their scepters stretcht from east to westerne shore. 
And all the world in their subiection held; 
Till that infernall feend with foule uprore 
Forwasted all their land, and them expeld; 80 

Whom to avenge she had this Knight from far 



compeld. 



YI. 



Behind her farre away a Dwarfe did lag. 
That lasie seemd, in being ever last, 
Or wearied with bearing of her bag 
Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past, 85 
The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast, 
And angry love an hideous storme of raine 
Did poure into his lemans lap so fast. 
That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain; 
And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were 
fain. 90 

VII. 

Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand, 

A shadie grove not farr away they spide. 

That promist ayde the tempest to withstand; 

Whose loftie trees, yclad with sommers pride. 

Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide. 95 



EDMUND SPENSEE 25 

Not perceable with power of any starr: 
And all within were pathes and alleies wide, 
With footing worne, and leading inward farr: 
Faire harbour that them seemes; so in they entred ar. 



VIII. 



And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led, 
Toying to heare the birdes sweete harmony, 101 

Which, therein shrouded from the tempest dred, 
Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky. 
Much can they praise the trees so straight and hy. 
The sayling pine ; the cedar proud and tall ; 105 

The vine-propp elme; the poplar never dry; 
The builder oake, sole king of forrests all; 
The aspine good for staves; the cypresse funerall; 

IX. 

The laurell, meed of mightie conquerours 
And poets sage; the firre that weepeth still; 110 

The willow, worne of forlorne paramours; 
The eugh, obedient to the benders will; 
The birch for shaftes; the sallow for the mill; 
The mirrhe sweete-bleeding in the bitter wound; 
The warlike beech; the ash for nothing ill; 115 

The fruitfull olive; and the platane round; 
The carver holme; the maple seeldom inward sound. 



Led with delight, they thus beguile the way, 
Untill the blustring storme is overblowne; 119 

When, weening to returne whence they did stray. 
They cannot finde that path, which first was showne 
But wander too and fro in waies unknowne, 



26 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

^Furthest from end then, when they neerest weene, 
That makes them doubt their wits be not their owne : 
So many pathes, so many turnings seene, 125 

That which of them to take, in diverse doubt they 
been. 

XI. 

At last resolving forward still to fare, 
Till that some end they finde, or in or out, 
That path they take, that beaten seemd most bare. 
And like to lead the labyrinth about; 130 

Which when by tract they hunted had throughout, 
At length it brought them to a hollowe cave. 
Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stout 
Eftsoones dismounted from his courser brave, 134 
And to the Dwarf e a while his needlesse spere he gave. 



XII. 

" Be well aware," quoth then that Ladie milde, 
" Least suddaine mischief e ye too rash provoke : 
The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde, 
Breedes dreadfull doubts: oft fire is without smoke, 
And perill without show : therefore your stroke, 140 
Sir Knight, withhold, till further tryall made." 
" Ah Ladie," sayd he, " shame were to revoke 
The forward footing for an hidden shade: 
Vertue gives her selfe light through darknesse for to 
wade." 



XIII. 



" Yea, but," quoth she, " the perill of this place 145 
I better wot then you : though nowe too late 
To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace, 
Yet wisedome warnes, whilst foot is in the gate. 



EDMUND SPENSER 27 

To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. 
This is the wandring wood, this Errours den, 150 
A monster vile, whom G od and man does hate : 
Therefore I read beware." " Fly, fly," quoth then 
The fearful Dwarf e; "This is no place for living 
men." 

XIV. 

But, full of fire and greedy hardiment, 154 

The youthf uU Knight could not for ought be staide ; 
But forth unto the darksom hole he went, 
And looked in : his glistring armor made 
A litle glooming light, much like a shade ; 
By which he saw the ugly monster plaine, 
Ilalfe like a serpent horribly displaide, ^ 160 

But th'other halfe did womans shape retaine, 
Most lothsom, filthie, f oule, and full of vile disdaine. 

[The Ked Cross Knight, assisted by Una, does battle 
with the dragon. Error. As the combat progresses, the 
hideous serpent-brood of Error, "deformed monsters, 
foul and black as ink," swarming about the Knight 
sorely encumber him. The poet thus compares them 
to a cloud of gnats.] 

XXIII. 

As gentle shepheard in sweete eventide. 
When ruddy Phebus gins to welke in west, 245 

High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide, 
Markes which doe byte their hasty supper best; 
A cloud of cumbrous gnattes doe him molest, 
All striving to infixe their feeble stinges. 
That from their noyance he no where can rest ; 250 
But with his clownish hands their tender wings 
He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings. 



28 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

XXIV. 

Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame 
Then of the certeine perill he stood in, 
Halfe furious unto his foe he came, 255 

Resolved in minde all suddenly to win. 
Or soone to lose, before he once would lin; 
And stroke at her with more then manly force. 
That from her body, full of filthie sin. 
He raft her hatefull heade without remorse: 260 
A streame of cole-black blood forth gushed from her 



XXVII. 

His Lady seeing all that chaunst, from farre, 
Approcht in hast to greet his victorie; 290 

And saide, " Faire Knight, borne under happie 

starre. 
Who see your vanquisht foes before you \je ; 
Well worthie be you of that armory, 
Wherein ye have great glory wonne this day, 
And proov'd your strength on a strong enimie ; 295 
Your first adventure: Many such I pray, 
And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may ! " 



[Having re-mounted his steed, the Red-Cross Knight 
and Una at length meet in the forest an " aged sire " 
clad in black, having a gray beard and a sober aspect. 
The Knight, having saluted him, is conducted to a 
hermitage on the skirts of the forest, where the old 
man tells him in pleasing words about Saints and 
popes: so they pass the evening in discourse.] 



EDMUND SPENSEB 29 

XXXVI. 

The drouping night thus creepeth on them fast; 
And the sad humor loading their eyeliddes, 380 

As messenger of Morpheus, on them east 
Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleep them 

biddes. 
Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes : 
Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes, 
He to his studie goes; and there amiddes 385 

His magick bookes, and artes of sundrie kindes, 
He seekes out mighty charmes to trouble sleepy minds. 

XXXVII. 

Then choosing out few words most horrible, 
(Let none them read!) thereof did verses frame; 
With which, and other spelles like terrible, 390 

He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly dame; 
And cursed heven; and spake reprochful shame 
Of highest God, the Lord of life and light. 
A bold bad man ! that dar'd to call by name 394 

Great Gorgon, prince of darknes and dead night; 
At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight. 

XXXVIII. 

And forth he cald out of deepe darknes dredd 
Legions of sprights, the which, like litle flyes, 
Fluttring about his ever-damned hedd, 
Awaite whereto their service he applyes, 400 

To aide his f riendes, or fray his enimies : 
Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo, 
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes; 
The one of them he gave a message too. 
The other by him selfe staide other worke to doo. 405 



30 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

XXXIX. 

He, making speedy way through spersed ayre, 
And through the world of waters wide and deepe, 
To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire. 
Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe, 409 

And low, where dawning day doth never peepe. 
His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed 
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe 
In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed, 
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth 
spred. 



XL. 



Whose double gates he findeth locked fast ; 415 

The one faire fram'd of burnisht yvory. 
The other all with silver overcast; 
And wakeful dogges before them farre doe lye, 
Watching to banish Care their enimy. 
Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe. 420 

By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly. 
And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe 
In drowsie fit he findes ; of nothing he takes keepe. 



XLI. 

And, more to lulle him in his slumber soft, 424 

A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe, 
And ever-drizling raine upon the loft, 
Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne 
Of swarming bees, did caste him in a swowne. 
No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes. 
As still are wont t' annoy the walled towne, 430 

Might there be heard; but carelesse Quiet lyes. 
Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes. 



EDMUND SPENSER 31 

XLII. 

The messenger approching to him spake; 
But his waste words retournd to him in vaine. 434 
So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake. 
Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine, 
Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe 
Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake. 
As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine 
Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weake, 440 
He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence breake. 

XLIII. 

The Sprite then gan more boldly him to wake, 
And threatned unto him the dreaded name 
Of Hecate: whereat he gan to quake. 
And, lifting up his lompish head, with blame 445 
Halfe angrie asked him, for what he came. 
" Hether," quoth he, " me Archimago sent. 
He that the stubborne sprites can wisely tame; 
He bids thee to him send for his intent 449 

A fit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers sent." 



XLIV. 

The god obayde; and, calling forth straight way 
A diverse dreame out of his prison darke, 
Delivered it to him, and downe did lay 
His heavie head, devoide of careful carke; 454 

Whose sences all were straight benumbd and starke. 
He. backe returning by the yvorie dore. 
Remounted up as light as chearefuU larke; 
And on his litle winges the dreame he bore 
In hast unto his lord, where he him left afore. 



32 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

XLV. 

Who all this while, with charmes and hidden artes, 
Had made a lady of that other spright, 460 

And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes, 
So lively, and so like in all mens sight. 
That weaker sence it could have ravisht quight : 
The maker selfe, for all his wondrous witt, 465 

Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight. 
Her all in white he clad, and over it 
Cast a black stole, most like to seeme for Una fit. 

XLVI. 

Now when that ydle Dreame was to him brought. 
Unto that Elfin Knight he bad him fly, 470 

Where he slept soundly, void of evil thought, 
And with false shewes abuse his fantasy, 
In sort as he him schooled privily. 
And that new creature, borne without her dew, 
Full of the makers guyle, with usage sly, 475 

He taught to imitate that Lady trew, 
Whose semblance she did carrie under feigned hew. 

[This phantom, in the outward semblance of Una, 
conducts herself with such lightness that the Knight is 
perplexed with doubts of her goodness and truthful- 
ness. At last, restless and tormented by evil delusions 
conjured up by Archimago, the Knight mounts his 
steed and flies with the dwarf. Thus parted from Una, 
or Truth, by the wiles of the Enchanter, the deluded 
Knight falls into peril in a meeting with Duessa, or 
Falsehood. 

Meanwhile the heavenly Una, his true bride, missing 
her Knight, sets out in search of him, alone and sor- 
rowful. The poet then tells how the lion comes to 
guard her in her need.] 



EDMUND SPENSER 33 

CANTO III. 

Forsaken Truth long seeks her love, 

and makes the Lyon mylde ; 
Marres blind Devotions mart, andfals 

in hand of treachour vylde. 



ISTought is there under heav'ns wide hoUownesse, 
That moves more cleare compassion of mind, 
Then beautie brought t' unworthie wretchednesse. 
Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes unkind. 
I, whether lately through her brightnes blynd, i 

Or through alleageance and fast fealty. 
Which I do owe unto all woman kynd, 
Feele my hart perst with so great agony, 
When such I see, that all for pitty I could dy. 



II. 



And now it is empassioned so deepe, 10 

For fairest Unaes sake, of whom I sing. 
That my fraile eyes these lines with teares do steepe. 
To thinke how she through guileful handeling. 
Though true as touch, though daughter of a king. 
Though faire as ever living wight was fayre, 15 

Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting, 
Is from her Knight devorced in despayre. 
And her dew loves deryv'd to that vile witches shayre. 

III. 

Yet she, most faithfull ladie, all this while 
Forsaken, wofuU, solitairie mayd, 20 

Far from all peoples preace, as in exile, 
In wildernesse and wastf ull deserts strayd. 



34 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

To seeke her Knight; who subtily betrayd 
Through that late vision, which th' enchanter wrought, 
Had her abandoned. She of naught affrayd, 25 
Through woods and wastness wide him daily sought; 
Yet wished tydinges none of him unto her brought. 



IV. 

One day, nigh wearie of the yeksome way, 
From her unhastie beast she did alight; 
And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay 30 

In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight; 
From her fayre head her fillet she undight; 
And layd her stole aside. Her angels face. 
As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright. 
And made a sunshine in the shady place; 35 

Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace. 



V. 

It fortuned, out of the thickest wood 
A ramping lyon rushed suddeinly, 
Hunting full greedy after salvage blood; 
Soone as the royall Virgin he did spy, 40 

With gaping mouth at her ran greedily. 
To have attonce devoured her tender corse. 
But to the pray when as he drew more ny. 
His bloody rage aswaged with remorse, 44 

And, with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse. 



VI. 

Instead thereof he kist her wearie feet. 
And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong ; 
As he her wronged innocence did weet. 
O how can beautie maister the most strong. 



EDMUND SPENSER 35 

And simple truth subdue avenging wrong! 50 

Whose yielded pryde and proud submission. 
Still dreading death, when she had marked long, 
Her hart gan melt in great compassion; 
And drizling teares did shed for pure affection. 

YII. 

" The lyon, lord of everie beast in field," 55 

Quoth she, " his princely puissance doth abate. 
And mightie proud to humble Aveake does yield, 
Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late 
Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate : — 
But he, my lyon, and my noble lord. 60 

How does he find in cruell hart to hate 
Her that him lov'd, and ever most adord. 
As the God of my life ? why hath he me abhord ? " 



VIII. 



Redounding teares did choke th' end of her plaint. 
Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood; 65 
And, sad to see her sorrowful constraint. 
The kingly beast upon her gazing stood; 
With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood. 
At last, in close hart shutting up her payne. 
Arose the Virgin borne of heavenly brood, 70 

And to her snowy palfrey got agayne 
To seeke her strayed champion, if she might attayne. 



IX. 



The lyon would not leave her desolate. 

But with her went along, as a strong gard 

Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate 75 

Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard: 



36 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward; 
And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent. 
With humble service to her will prepard: 
From her fayre eyes he took commandement, 80 

And ever by her lookes conceived her intent. 

[Archimago, learning of the whereabouts of Una, 
assumes the arms and appearance of the Red Cross 
Knight, and, — being too fearful of the lion to join her, 
— approaches near enough to her to be seen. Una see- 
ing, as she supposes, him whom she has sought through 
wide deserts, and with great toil and peril, goes up to 
him in joy and humbleness, while Archimago, feigning 
to be her Knight, greets her with words of welcome 
and vows of faithful service.] 



XXX. 



His lovely words her seemd due recompence 
Of all her passed paines; one loving howre 
For many yeares of sorrow can dispence; 
A dram of sweete is worth a pound of sowre. 
Shee has forgott how many woful stowre 275 

For him she late endurd ; she speakes no more 
Of past : true is, that true love hath no powre 
To looken backe; his eies be fixt before. 
Before her stands her Knight, for whom she toyld so 
sore. 

XXXI. 

Much like, as when the beaten marinere, 280 

That long hath wandred in the ocean wide, 

Ofte soust in swelling Tethys saltish teare; 

And long time having tand his tawney hide 

With blu string breath of heaven, that none can bide, 



EDMUND SPENSER- 37 

And scorching flames of fierce Orions hound; 285 
Soone as the port from far he has espide. 
His chearfull whistle merily doth sound, 
And Nereus crownes with cups; his mates him pledg 
around. 

XXXII. 

Such ioy made Una, when her Knight she found; 
And eke th' Enchanter ioyous seemde no lesse 290 
Then the glad marchant, that does vew from ground 
His ship far come from watrie wildernesse; 
He hurles out vowes, and Neptune oft doth blesse. 
So forth they past; and all the way they spent 
Discoursing of her dreadful late distresse, 295 

In which he askt her, what the lyon ment; 
Who told her all that fell, in iourney as she went. 

XXXIII. 

They had not ridden far, when they might see 
One pricking towards them with hastie heat. 
Full strongly armd, and on a courser free 300 

That through his fiersenesse fomed all with sweat. 
And the sharpe yron did for anger eat. 
When his hot ryder spurd his chauffed side; 
His looke was sterne, and seemed still to threat 
Cruell revenge, which he in hart did hyde; 305 

And on his shield Smis Ioy in bloody lines was dyde. 

[Archimago, in the guise of the Red Cross Knight, 
thus journeying with Una meets a Paynim, or Saracen, 
named Sansloy. Sansloy attacks Archimago, who is 
overthrown. When he is unhelmed, Una sees to her 
surprise the face of Archimago instead of that of the 
Red Cross Knight. The Paynim, leaving Archimago 
dying, rudely approaches Una and drags her from her 



38 SPENSER TO DEYDEN 

palfrey. The poet then describes the combat of the 
Paynim with the Hon.] 

XLI. 

But her fiers servant, full of kingly aw 
And high disdaine, whenas his soveraine Dame 380 
So rudely handled by her foe he saw, 
With gaping iawes full greedy at him came, 
And, ramping in his shield, did weene the same 
Have reft away with his sharp rending clawes : 
But he was stout, and lust did now inflame 385 

His corage more, that from his griping pawes 
He hath his shield redeemd; and forth his sword he 
drawes. 

XLII. 

O then, too weake and feeble was the forse 
Of salvage beast, his puissance to withstand! 
For he was strong, and of so mightie corse, 390 

As ever wielded speare in warlike hand; 
And feates of armes did wisely understand. 
Eftsoones he perced through his chaufed chest 
With thrilling point of deadly yron brand. 
And launcht his lordly hart : with death opprest 395 
He ror'd aloud, whiles life forsooke his stubborne 
brest. 

XLIII. 

Who now is left to keepe the forlorne Maid 
From raging spoile of lawlesse victors will ? 
Her faithful gard remov'd; her hope dismaid; 
Her selfe a yielded pray to save or spill! 400 

He now, lord of the field, his pride to fill, 
With foule reproches and disdaineful spright 
Her vildly entertaines; and, will or nill 
Beares her away upon his courser light 
Her prayers naught prevaile; his rage is more of 
might. 405 



EDMUND SPENSER 39 

XLIV. 

And all the way, with great lamenting paine, 
And piteous plaintes she filleth his dull eares, 
That stony hart could riven have in twaine; 
And all the way she wetts with flowing teares ; 
But he, enrag'd with rancor, nothing heares. 410 
Her servile beast yet would not leave her so, 
But followes her far of, ne ought he feares 
To be partaker of her wandring woe. 
More mild in beastly kind, then that her beastly foe. 

[After many mishaps and adventures the Book ends 
with the happy union of the Red Cross Knight and 
Una; — the marriage of Holiness and Truth.] 



BOOK II. 
CANTO VI. 

THE STORY OF SIR GUYON, OR THE KNIGHT OF 
TEMPERANCE 

Guyon is of immodest Merth 
Led into loose desyre ; 

Fights with Chymochles, whiles his bro- 
ther burnes in furious fy re. 



A harder lesson to learne Continence 
In ioyous pleasure then in grievous paine ; 
For sweetnesse doth allure the weaker sence 
So strongly, that uneathes it can refraine 
From that which feeble nature covets faine; 
But griefe and wrath, that be her enemies. 
And foes of life, she better can abstaine: 
Yet Vertue vauntes in both her victories; 
And Guyon in them all shewes goodly mysteries. 



40 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

[Sir Guyon having met a damsel who represents in- 
temperate pleasure, is tempted by her to neglect duty 
in inglorious idleness and self-indulgence. He falls 
under the spell of her blandishments and his coming 
under her allurements to the Idle Lake, the home of 
pleasure, is thus described:] 



XI. 

Whiles thus she talked, and whiles thus she toyd, 
They were far past the passage which he spake, 101 
And come unto an island waste and voyd, 
That floted in the midst of that great lake; 
There her small gondelay her port did make, 
And that gay payre, issewing on the shore, 105 

Disburdened her. Their way they forward take 
Into the land that lay them f aire before. 
Whose pleasaunce she him shewde, and plentifull 
great store. 

XII. 

It was a chosen plott of fertile land, 
Emongst wide waves sett, like a little nest, 110 

As if it had by Nature's cunning hand 
Bene choycely picked out from all the rest, 
And laid forth for ensample of the best: 
ISTo daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, 
'No arborett with painted blossomes drest 115 

And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd 
To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al 
around. 

XIII. 

No tree whose braunches did not bravely spring ; 
No braunch, whereon a fine bird did not sitt; 
1^0 bird, but did her shrill notes sweetly sing; 120 
No song but did containe a lovely ditt. 



EDMUND SPENSER ^1 

Trees, braunches, birds, and songs, were framed fitt 
For to allure fraile mind to careless ease: 
Carelesse the man soone woxe, and his weake witt 
Was overcome of thing that did him please; 125 

So pleased did his wrathfuU purpose f aire appease. 

XIY. 

Thus when shee had his eyes and sences fed 
With false delights, and fild with pleasures vayn, 
Into a shady dale she soft him led, 
And layd him downe upon a grassy playn ; 130 

And her sweete selfe without dread or disdayn 
She sett beside, laying his head disarmd 
In her loose lap, it softly to sustayn, 
Where soone he slumbred fearing not be harm d, 
The whils with a love lay she thus him sweetly 
charmd : 

XY. 

" Behold, O man ! that toilsome paines doest take, 
The flowrs, the fields, and all that pleasaunt growes, 
How they themselves doe thine ensample make, 
Whiles nothing envious nature them forth throwes 
Out of her fruitfull lap; how, no man knowes, 140 
They spring, they bud, they blossome fresh and f aire, 
' And decke the world with their rich pompous 
showes ; 
Yet no man for them taketh paines or care. 
Yet no man to them can his carefull paines compare. 

XVI. 

" The lilly, lady of the flowring field, 145 

The flowre-de-luce, her lovely paramours, 
Bid thee to them thy fruitlesse labors yield. 
And soone leave off this toylsome weary stoure: 



42 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Loe! loe; how brave she decks her bounteous boure, 
With silkin curtens, and gold eoverletts, 150 

Therein to shrowd her sumptuous belamoure! 
Yet neither spinnes nor cards, ne cares nor fretts, 
But to her mother Nature all her care she letts. 



XVII. 

" Why then doest thou, O man, that of them all 
Art lord, and eke of nature soveraine, 155 

Wilfully make thyselfe a wretched thrall. 
And waste thy ioyous howres in needelesse paine, 
Seeking for daunger and adventures vaine? 
What bootes it al to have, and nothing use? 
Who shall him rew that swimming in the maine 160 
Will die for thrist, and water doth refuse? 
Refuse such fruitlesse toile, and present pleasures 
chuse." 

XVIII. 

By this she had him lulled fast asleepe. 
That of no worldly thing he care did take: 
Then she with liquors strong his eies did steepe, 165 
That nothing should him hastily awake. 
So she him lefte, and did herselfe betake 
Unto her boat again, with which she clefte 
The slouthf ull wave of that great griesy lake : 
Soone shee that Island far behind her lefte, 170 

And now is come to that same place where first she 
wefte. 



[Sir Guy on, having escaped from the temptations 
of Idle Pleasure, next encounters Mammon, or the 
temptations of Avarice.] 



EDMUND SPENSEE 43 

BOOK II 

CANTO VII. 

Guyon findes Mamo7i in a delve 

sunning his threasure hore ; 
Is by hint tempted, and led downe 

To see his secret store. 

II. 

So Guyon, having lost his trustie guyde, 10 

Late left beyond that Ydle Lake, proceedes 
Yet on his way, of none accompanyde ; 
And evermore himselfe with comfort feedes 
Of his own vertues and praise-worthie deedes. 
So, long he yode, yet no adventure found, 15 

Which Fame of her shrill trompet worthy reedes : 
For still he traveild through wide wastfull ground, 
That nought but desert wildernesse shewed all around. 

III. 

At last he came unto a gloomy glade, 19 

Cover'd with boughes and shrubs from heavens light, 
Whereas he sitting found in secret shade 
An uncouth, salvage, and uncivile wight, 
Of griesly hew and fowle ill-favour'd sight; 
His face with smoke was tand, and eies were bleard, 
His head and beard with sout were ill bedight, 25 
His cole-blacke hands did seeme to have ben seard 
In smythes fire-spitting forge, and nayles like clawes 
appeard. 

IV. 

His yron cote, all overgrowne with rust. 

Was underneath enveloped with gold; 

Whose glistering glosse darkened with filthy dust, 30 

Well yet appeared to have beene of old 



44 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

A worke of rich entayle and curious mould, 
Woven with antickes and wyld ymagery; 
And in his lap a masse of coyne he told, 
And turned upside downe, to feede his eye 35 

And covetous desire with his huge threasury. 



V. 

And round about him lay on every side 
Great heapes of gold that never could be spent ; 
Of which some were rude owre, not purifide. 
Of Mulcibers devouring element; 40 

Some others were new driven, and distent 
Into great Ingowes and to wedges square; 
Some in round plates withouten moniment; 
But most were stampt, and in their metal bare 
The antique shapes of kings and kesars stroung and 
rare. 45 

VI. 

Soone as he Guyon saw, in great affright 
And haste he rose for to remove aside 
Those pretious hils from straungers envious sight. 
And downe them poured through an hole full wide 
Into the hollow earth, them there to hide ; 50 

But Guyon, lightly to him leaping, stayd 
His hand that trembled as one terrifyde; 
And though himselfe were at the sight dismayd. 
Yet him perforce restraynd, and to him doubtfull 
sayd: 

VII. 

" What art thou, Man, (if man at all thou art,) 55 
That here in desert hast thine inhabitaunce. 
And these rich hils of welth doest hide apart 
From the worldes eye, and from her right usaunce ? '* 



EDMUND SPENSER 46 

Thereat, with staring eyes fixed askaunce. 
In great disdaine he answerd : " Hardy Elfe, 60 

That darest vew my direful countenaunce ! 
I read thee rash and heedlesse of thy selfe, 
To trouble my still seate, and heapes of pretious pelfe. 

VIII. 

" God of the world and worldlings I me call, 
Great Mammon, greatest god below the skye, 65 

That of my plenty poure out unto all. 
And unto none my graces do envye: 
Riches, renowme, and principality, 
Honour, estate, and all this worldes good. 
For which men swinck and sweat incessantly, 70 
Fro me do flow into an ample flood. 
And in the hollow earth have their eternall brood. 



IX. 

" Wherefore, if me thou deigne to serve and sew, 
At thy commaund lo ! all these mountaines bee ; 
Or if to thy great mind, or greedy vew, 75 

All these may not suffise, there shall to thee 
Ten times so much be nombred francke and free." 
" Mammon," said he, " thy godheads vaunt is vaine. 
And idle offers of thy golden fee; 
To them that covet such eye-glutting gaine 80 

Proffer thy giftes, and fitter servaunte entertaine. 



" Me ill besits, that in derdoing armes 
And honours suit my vowed daies do spend, 
TTnto thy bounteous baytes, and pleasing charmes. 
With which weake men thou witchest, to attend ; 85 



46 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Regard of worldly mucke doth f owly blend, 
And low abase the high heroicke spright, 
That ioyes for crownes and kingdomes to contend; 
Faire shields, gay steedes, bright armes, be my 
delight ; 
Those be the riches fit for an advent'rous knight." 90 

XI. 

" Vaine glorious Elf e," saide he, " doest not thou 

weet. 
That money can thy wantes at will supply ? 
Shields, steeds, and armes, and all things for thee 

meet. 
It can purvay in twinckling of an eye; 
And crownes and kingdomes to thee multiply. 95 
Doe not I kings create, and throw the crowne 
Sometimes to him that low in dust doth ly. 
And him that raignd into his rowme thrust downe, 
And whom I lust do heape with glory and renowne ? " 

XII. 

" All otherwise," saide he, " I riches read, 100 

And deeme them roote of all disquietnesse ; 
First got with guile, and then preserv'd with dread, 
And after spent with pride and lavishnesse, 
Leaving behind them grief e and heavinesse: 
Infinite mischief es of them doe arize; 105 

Strife and debate, bloodshed and bitternesse. 
Outrageous wrong and hellish covetize. 
That noble heart, in great dishonour, doth despize. 

XIII. 

*' "Ne thine be Kingdomes, ne the scepters thine ; 
But realmes and rules thou doest both confound, 110 
And loyall truth to treason doest incline: 
Witnesse the guiltlesse blood pourd oft on ground; 



EDMUND SPENSER 47 

The crowned often slaine; the slayer cround; 
The sacred diademe in peeces rent, 
And purple robe gored with many a wound, 115 

Castles surprizd, great cities sackt and brent: 
So mak'st thou kings, and gaynest wrongfull govern- 
ment ! 

XIY. 

" Long were to tell the troublous stormes that tosse 

The private state, and make the life unsweet: 

Who swelling sayles in Caspian sea doth crosse, 120 

And in frayle wood on Adrian gulf doth fleet. 

Doth not, I weene, so many evils meet." 

Then Mammon wexing wroth : " And why then," 



" Are mortall men so fond and undiscreet 
So evill thing to seeke unto their ayd; 125 

And having not, complaine, and having it, upbrayd ? " 



XIX. 

" Me list not," said the Elfin Knight, 
Thing offred, till I know it well be gott; 
Ne wote I but thou didst these goods bereave 
From rightfull owner by unrighteous lott, 175 

Or that blood-guiltinesse or guile them blott." 
" Perdy," quoth he, " yet never eie did vew, 
ISTe tong did tell, ne hand these handled not; 
But safe I have them kept in secret mew 
From hevens sight and powre of al which them pour- 
sew." 180 
XX. 

" What secret place," quoth he, " can safely hold 
So huge a masse, and hide from heavens eie? 
Or where hast thou thy wonne, that so much gold 
Thou canst preserve from wrong and robbery ? " 184 



48 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

" Come thou," quoth he, " and see." So by and by- 
Through that thick covert he him led, and f ownd 
A darksome way, which no man could descry. 
That deep descended through the hollow grownd, 
And was with dread and horror compassed arownd. 

XXI. 

At length they came into a larger space, 190 

That strecht itself e into an ample playne; 
Through which a beaten broad high way did trace 
That streight did lead to Plutoes griesly rayne: 
By that wayes side there sate infernall Payne, 
And fast beside him sat tumultuous Strife; 195 

The one in hand an yron whip did strajTie, 
The other brandished a bloody knife; 
And both did gnash their teeth, and both did threten 
Life. 

XXII. 

On th'other side in one consort there sate 
Cruell Revenge, and rancorous Despight, 200 

Disloyall Treason, and hart-burning Hate; 
But gnawing Gealosy, out of their sight 
Sitting alone, his bitter lips did bight; 
And trembling Feare still to and fro did fly, 204 
And found no place wher safe he shroud him might : 
Lamenting Sorrow did in darknes lye; 
And Shame his ugly face did hide from living eye. 

XXIII. 

And over them sad Horror with grim hew 

Did alwaies sore, beating his yron wings; 

And after him owles and night-ravens flew, 210 

The hatefull messengers of heavy things, 



EDMUND SPENSER 49 

Of death and dolor telling sad tidings; 
Whiles sad Celeno, sitting on a clifte, 
A song of bale and bitter sorrow sings, 
That hart of flint a sonder could have rifte; 215 
Which having ended, after him she flyeth swifte. 

XXIV. 

All these before the gates of Pluto lay; 
By whom they passing spake unto them nought ; 
But th' Elfin Knight with wonder all the way 
Did feed his eyes, and fild his inner thought. 220 
At last him to a litle dore he brought, 
That to the gate of hell, which gaped wide. 
Was next adiogning, ne them parted ought : 
Betwixt them both was but a litle stride, 224 

That did the house of Kichesse from hell-mouth divide. 

XXV. 

Before the dore sat selfe-consuming Care, 
Day and night keeping wary watch and ward. 
For feare least Force or Fraud should unaware 
Breake in, and spoile the treasure there in gard: 
Ne would he suffer Sleepe once thether-ward 230 
Approch, albe his drowsy den were next; 
For next to Death is Sleepe to be compard; 
Therefore his house is unto his annext: 
Here Sleepe, there Kichesse, and Hel-gate them both 
betwext. 

XXVI. 

So soone as Mammon there arrivd, the dore 235 

To him did open, and affoorded way: 

Him followed eke Sir Guyon evermore; 

Ne darknesse him, ne daunger might dismay. 



50 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Soone as he entred was, the dore streight way 
Did shutt, and from behind it forth there lept 240 
An ugly feend, more fowle than dismall day; 
The which with monstrous stalke behind him stept, 
And ever as he went dew watch upon him kept. 



XXVIII. 

That houses forme within was rude and strong, 
Lyke an huge cave hewne out of rocky clifte. 
From whose rough vaut the ragged breaches hong 
Embost with massy gold of glorious guifte, 265 

And with rich metall loaded every rifte. 
That heavy ruine they did seeme to threatt; 
And over them Arachne high did lifte 
Her cunning web, and spred her subtile nett. 
Enwrapped in fowle smoke and clouds more black then 
iett. 270 

XXIX. 

Both roofe, and floore, and walls, were all of gold. 
But overgrown with dust and old decay. 
And hid in darknes, that none could behold 
The hew thereof : for vew of cheref ull day 
Did never in that house it selfe display, 275 

But a faint shadow of uncertein light ; 
Such as a lamp, whose life does fade away; 
Or as the moone, cloathed with clowdy night, 
Does shew to him that walks in feare, and sad affright. 

XXX. 

In all that rowme was nothing to be scene 280 

But huge great yron chests, and coffers strong. 
All bard with double bends, that none could weene 
Them to efforce by violence or wrong; 



EDMUND SPENSER 51 

On every side they placed were along. 
But all the grownd with sculs was scattered 285 
And dead mens bones, which round about were flong ; 
Whose lives, it seemed, whilome there were shed. 
And their vile carcases left unburied. 

XXXI. 

They forward passe ; ne Guyon yet spoke word, 
Till that they came unto an yron dore, 290 

Which to them opened of his owne accord. 
And shewd of richesse such exceeding store, 
As eie of man did never see before, 
'Ne ever could within one place be fownd, 294 

Though all the wealth which is, or was of yore. 
Could gathered be through all the world arownd. 
And that above were added to that under grownd. 

XXXII. 

The charge thereof unto a covetous spright 
Commaunded was, who thereby did attend,* 
And warily awaited day and night, 300 

From other covetous feends it to defend, 
Who it to rob and ransacke did intend. 
Then Mammon, turning to that warriour, said: 
" Loe, here the worldes blis ! loe, here the end. 
To which Tvl men doe ayme, rich to be made ! 305 
Such grace now to be happy is before thee laid." 

XXXIII. 

" Certes," said he, " I n' ill thine offred grace, 

N'e to be made so happy doe intend! 

Another blis before mine eyes I place, 

Another happines, another end. 310 



52 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

To them that list, these base regardes I lend: 
But I in armes, and in atchievements brave. 
Do rather choose my flitting houres to spend, 
And to be lord of those that riches have. 
Then them to have myselfe, and be their servile 
sclave." 315 

XXXIV. 

Thereat the Feend his gnashing teeth did grate. 
And griev'd, so long to lacke his greedie pray; 
For well he weened that so glorious bayte 
Would tempt his guest to take thereof assay : 
Had he so doen, he had him snatcht away 320 

More light then culver in the faulcons fist: 
Eternall God thee save from such decay! 
But, whenas Mammon saw his purpose mist. 
Him to entrap unwares another way he wist. 

[The poet then goes on to tell of the further tempta- 
tions to which Guyon is subjected, and of how the 
Knight withstands them. At length, after three days 
have passed, according to men's reckoning, Guyon 
begs to be taken back into the world, and Mammon, 
though loth, is constrained to comply with the request. 
But as soon as Guyon reaches the vital air he swoons, 
and lies as one dead. The next Canto (which ends 
with the Knight's recovery and re-union with the 
Palmer, his appointed guide,) begins with the follow- 
ing stanzas on the care of God for man, thus leading 
us to anticipate the happy ending.] 

(From Cajito VIII.) 
I. 

And is there care in heaven? And is there love 
In heavenly spirits to these creatures bace. 
That may compassion of their evils move? 
There is: else much more wretched were the cace 



EDMUND SPENSER 53 

Of men then beasts. But O ! th' exceeding grace 
Of highest God that loves his creatures so, 6 

And all his workes with mercy doth embrace, 
That blessed Angels he sends to and fro, 
To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe. 



II. 

How oft do they their silver bowers leave, 10 

To come to succour us that succour want ! 
How oft do they with golden pineons cleave 
The flitting skyes, like flying Pursuivant, 
Against f owle feendes to ayd us militant ! 
They for us fight, they watch and dewly ward, 15 
And their bright sqadrons round about us plant; 
And all for love, and nothing for reward. 
O ! why should hevenly God to men have such regard ? 



THE COURTIER 

(From Mother Hubberd's Tale, 1591) 

Most miserable man, whom wicked fate 

Hath brought to court, to sue for had ywist, 

That few have found, and manie one hath mist ! 

Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, 895 

What hell it is in suing long to bide : 

To loose good dayes, that might be better spent ; 

To wast long nights in pensive discontent; 

To speed to day, to be put back tomorrow; 899 

To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow; 

To have thy Princes grace, yet want her Peeres ; 

To have thy asking, yet waite manie yeeres; 

To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares; 

To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires; 



64 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne, 

To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne. 906 

Unhappie wight, borne to desastrous end. 

That doth his life in so long tendance spend! 

Who ever leaves sweete home, where meane estate 

In safe assurance, without strife or hate, 910 

Findes all things needf ull for contentment meeke. 

And will to court for shadowes vaine to seeke, 

Or hope to gaine, himself e will a daw trie : 

That curse God send unto mine enemie! 

SONNET XL. 
(From Amoretti, 1595) 

Mark when she smiles with amiable cheare, 
And tell me whereto can ye lyken it; 
When on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare 
An hundred Graces as in shade to sit. 
Lykest it seemeth, in my simple wit, 5 

TTnto the fayre sunshine in somers day; 
That, when a dreadfull storm away is flit, 
Thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly ray: 
At sight whereof, each bird that sits on spray., 
And every beast that to his den was fled, 10 

Comes forth afresh out of their late dismay. 
And to thy light lift up their drouping hed. 
So my storme-beaten hart likewise is cheared 
With that sunshine, when cloudy looks are cleared. 

SONNET LXXV. 

(From the same) 

One day I wrote her name upon the strand; 
But came the waves and washed it away: 
Agayiie, I wrote it with a second hand; 
And came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. 



EDMUND SPENSER 55 

" Vayne man," sayd she, " that doest in vayne assay 

A mortall thing so to immortalize; 6 

For I myselve shall lyke to this decay. 
And eek my name bee wyped out lykewize." 
" Not so " (quod I) ; " let baser things devize 
To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame: 10 

My verse your vertues rare shall eternize, 
And in the hevens wryte your glorious name; 

Where, when as death shall all the world subdew, 
Our love shall live, and later life renew." 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 

Jobn %^l^ 

1553-1606 

APELLES' SONG 
(From Alexandei' and Campaspe, 1584 ; acted 1581) 

Cupid and my Campaspe played 

At cards for kisses, — Cupid paid; 

He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, 

His mother's doves, and team of sparrows: 

Loses them too; then down he throws 5 

The coral of his lip, the rose 

Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how) ; 

With these the crystal of his brow, 

And then the dimple of his chin: 

All these did my Campaspe win. 10 

At last he set her both his eyes; 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

O Love, has she done this to thee? 

What shall, alas! become of me? 

IRobert Greene 

1560-1592 

CONTENT 

(From Farewell to Folly, 1591) 

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content, 
The quiet mind is richer than a crown, 

56 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 57 

Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent, 

The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown; 
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss. 
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss, 6 

The homely house that harbours quiet rest. 
The cottage that affords no pride nor care. 

The mean that grees with country music best, 

The sweet consort of mirth and modest fare, 10 

Obscured life sets down a type of bliss : 

A mind content both crown and kingdom is. 



^bvisto^bcv /iDarlowe 

1564-1593 
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE 

(In Ti;e Passionate Pilgrim, 1599, enlarged form ia England's 
Helicon, 1600) 

Come live with me, and be my love, 
And we will all the pleasures prove. 
That valleys, groves, hills and fields. 
Woods or steepy mountains yields. 

And we will sit upon the rocks, 6 

Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

And I will make thee beds of roses. 

And a thousand fragrant posies, 10 

A cap of flowers and a kirtle 

Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; 

A gown made of the finest wool 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull; 



58 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Fair-lined slippers for the cold, 15 

With buckles of the purest gold; 

A belt of straw and ivy-buds, 

With coral clasps and amber studs: 

An if these pictures may thee move, 

Come live with me and be my love. 20 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
For thy delight each May morning: 
If these delights thy mind may move, 
Then live with me and be my love. 



Cir. 1570— a>. 1637 
O SWEET CONTENT 

(From The Patient Grissell, acted 1599) 

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? 

O sweet content! 
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? 

O punishment! 
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed 5 

To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? 
O sweet content! O sweet O sweet content! 

Work apace, apace, apace, apace; 
Honest labor bears a lovely face ; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny! 10 

Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring? 

O sweet content! 
Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine ovjn tears ? 

O punishment! 
Then he that patiently want's burden bears 15 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 59 

No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! 

O sweet content! O sweet O sweet content! 

Work apace, apace, apace, apace; 
Honest labor bears a lovely face; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny! 20 



Ubomas 1be^woo^ 

1581 (?)-1640 (?) 

GOOD MORROW 

(From The Rape of LiLcrece, 1608 (printed), acted dr. 1605) 

Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day. 

With night we banish sorrow; 
Sweet air blow soft, mount lark aloft, 

To give my love good-morrow. 
Wings from the wind to please her mind, 5 

Notes from the lark I'll borrow; 
Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing. 

To give my love good-morrow. 
To give my love good-morrow. 
Notes from them both I'll borrow. 10 

Wake from thy rest, robin-redbreast, 

Sing birds in every furrow; 
And from each bill let music shrill 

Give my fair love good-morrow. 
Blackbird and thrush in every bush, 15 

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow, 
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves 

Sing my fair love good-morrow; 
To give my love good-morrow 
Sing birds in every furrow. 20 



60 SPENSER TO DEYDEN 

Ubomas Catnpton 

D. 1619 (?) 

TO LESBIA 

(In Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601) 

My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love. 
And though the sager sort our deeds reprove 
Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps 

do dive 
Into their west, and straight again revive; 
5 But soon as once set is our litle light. 
Then must we sleep one ever-during night. 

If all would lead their lives in love like me. 
Then bloody swords and armour should not be; 
No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should 
move, 
10 Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love : 
But fools do live and waste their little light, 
And seek with pain their ever-during night. 

When timely death my life and fortunes ends. 
Let not my hearse be vext with mourning 
friends ; 
15 But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come 

And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb : 
And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light 
And crown with love my ever-during night. 

THE ARMOUR OF INNOCENCE 

(From the same) 

The man of life upright. 
Whose guiltless heart is free 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 61 

From all dishonest deeds, 
Or thought of vanity; 

5 The man whose silent days 
In harmless joys are spent, 
Whom hopes cannot delude 
Nor sorrow discontent: 

That man needs neither towers 
10 ISTor armour for defence, 
Nor secret vaults to fly 
From thunder's violence : 

He only can behold 
With unafi^righted eyes 
15 The horrors of the deep 
And terrors of the skies. 

Thus scorning all the cares 

That fate or fortune brings. 

He makes the heaven his book; 

20 His wisdom heavenly things; 

Good thoughts his only friends. 

His wealth a well-spent age, 
The earth his sober inn 

And quiet pilgrimage. 



FORTUNATI NIMIUM 

Jack and Joan, they think no ill, 
But loving live, and merry still; 
Do their week-day's work, and pray 
Devoutly on the holy-day : 



62 SPENSER TO DRDYEN 

5 Skip and trip it on the green, 
And help to choose the Summer Queen; 
Lash out at a country feast 
Their silver penny with the best. 

Well can they judge of nappy ale, 
10 And tell at large a winter tale; 
Climb up to the apple loft, 
And turn the crabs till they be soft. 
Tib is all the father's joy. 
And little Tom the mother's boy : — 
15 All their pleasure is. Content, 
And care, to pay their yearly rent. 

Joan can call by name her cows 
And deck her windows with green boughs : 
She can wreaths and tutties make, 
20 And trim with plums a bridal cake. 
Jack knows what brings gain or loss. 
And his long flail can stoutly toss : 
Makes the hedge which others break, 
And ever thinks what he doth speak. 

25 Now, you courtly dames and knights, 
That study only strange delights, 
Though you scorn the homespun gray. 
And revel in your rich array; 
Though your tongues dissemble deep 

30 And can your heads from danger keep; 
Yet, for all your pomp and train. 
Securer lives the silly swain! 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 63 

3obn ffletcber 

1579-1625 
SONG OF THE PRIEST OF PAN 

(From IJie Faithful Shepherdess, Act II. sc. 1, acted 1610) 

Shepherds all, and maidens fair 

Fold your flocks up, for the air 

'Gins to thicken, and the sun 

Already his great course hath run. 
5 See the dew-drops how they kiss 

Every little flower that is ; 

Hanging on their velvet heads, 

Like a rope of crystal beads; 

See the heavy clouds low falling, 
10 And bright Hesperus down calling 

The dead night from under ground; 

At whose rising mists unsound. 

Damps and vapours fly apace, 

Hovering o'er the wanton face 
15 Of these pastures, where they come 

Striking dead both bud and bloom: 

Therefore from such danger lock 

Every one his loved flock ; 

And let your dogs lie loose without, 
20 Lest the wolf come as a scout 

From the mountain, and, ere day, 

Bear a lamb or kid away; 

Or the crafty thievish fox 

Break upon your simple flocks. 
25 To secure yourselves from these 

Be not too secure in ease; 

Let one eye his watches peep 

While the other eye doth sleep ; 

So you shall good shepherds prove. 



64 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

30 And for ever hold the love 

Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers, 
And soft silence, fall in numbers 
On your eyelids ! So, farewell ! 
Thus I end my evening's knell. 



SONG TO PAN 
(From the same, Act. V. sc. 5.) 

All ye woods, and trees, and bowers, 
All ye virtues and ye powers 
That inhabit in the lakes, 
In the pleasant springs or brakes, 
5 Move your feet 

To our sound. 
Whilst we greet 
All this ground 
With his honour and his name 
10 That defends our flocks from blame. 

He is great, and he is just. 
He is ever good, and must 
Thus be honoured. Daffodillies, 
Roses, pinks, and loved lilies, 
15 Let us fling 

Whilst we sing 

Ever holy, 

Ever holy. 
Ever honoured, ever young! 
20 Thus great Pan is ever sung! 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 65 

jfrancts Beaumont 

1586 (?)-1616 

ON THE LIFE OF MAN 

(From Poems, 1640) 

Like to the falling of a star. 
Or as the flights of eagles are, 
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 
Or silver drops of morning dew, 
5 Or like the wind that chafes the flood, 
Or bubbles which on water stood; 
Even such is man, whose borrowed light 
Is straight called in and paid to-night. 
The wind blows out, the bubble dies, 
10 The spring entombed in autumn lies. 
The dew's dried up, the star is shot, 
The flight is past, and man forgot. 

ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

(From Poems, 1653) 

Mortality, behold and fear! 
What a change of flesh is here! 
Think how many royal bones 
Sleep within this heap of stones; 
5 Here they lie, had realms and lands. 

Who now want strength to stir their hands ; 
Where from their pulpits sealed with dust 
They preach, " In greatness is no trust." 
Here's an acre sown indeed 
10 With the richest, royall'st seed 
That the earth did e'er suck in 
Since the first man died for sin: 
Here the bones of birth have cried, 
" Though gods they were, as men they died ! " 



66 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

15 Here are sands, ignoble things, 

Dropt from the ruined sides of kings: 
Here's a world of pomp and state. 
Buried in dust, once dead by fate. 



Sir Ibenr^ Motton 

1568-1639 

THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE 

(Written dr. 1614) 

Eow happy is he born and taught 
That serveth not another's will; 

Whose armour is his honest thought. 
And simple truth his utmost skill; 

5 Whose passions not his masters are; 

Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
Untied unto the world by care 
Of public fame or private breath; 

Who envies none that chance doth raise, 
10 Nor vice; who never understood 

How deepest wounds are given by praise; 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 

Who hath his life from rumours freed; 
Whose conscience is his strong retreat; 
15 Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
Nor ruin make oppressors great; 

Who God doth late and early pray 

More of his grace than gifts to lend; 
And entertains the harmless day 
20 With a religious book or friend. 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 67 

This man is freed from servile bands 

Of hope to rise or fear to fall ; 
Lord of himself, though not of lands, 

And having nothing, yet hath all. 



Sir Malter IRaletab (?) 

1552-1618 

THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE 
SHEPHERD 

(From England's Helicon, 1600) 

If all the world and Love were young, 
And truth in every shepherd's tongue. 
These pleasures might my passion move, 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 

5 But time drives flocks from field to fold, 
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; 
And Philomel becometh dumb, 
The rest complains of cares to come. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
10 To wayward winter reckoning yields; 
A honey tongue, a heart of gall. 
Is fancies spring but sorrows fall. 

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses. 
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, 
15 Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten. 
In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, 
Thy coral clasps and amber studs. 
All these in me no means can move, 
20 To come to thee, and be thy love. 



68 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

But could youth last, could love still breed, 
Had joys no date, had age no need; 
Then those delights my mind might move 
To live with thee and be thy love. 



Ben Sonson 

1573-1637 

TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM SHAKS- 
PEARE, AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US 

(From First Folio edition of Sliakespeare, 1633) 

To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name, 
Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; 
While I confess thy writings to be such. 
As neither Man nor Muse can praise too much. 
5 'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways 
Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; 
For silliest ignorance on these may light. 
Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; 
Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance 
10 The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance; 
Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, 
And think to ruin where it seemed to raise. 



15 But thou art proof against them and, indeed, 
Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. 
I therefore will begin : Goul of the age ! 
The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage ! 
My Shakspeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by 

20 Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie 
A little further, to make thee a room: 
Thou art a monument without a tomb, 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 69 

Thou art alive still while thy book doth live, 
And we have wits to read, and praise to give. 

25 That I not mix thee so my brain excuses, — 
I mean with great but dispropoHioned Muses; 
For if I thought my judgment were of years, 
I should commit thee surely with thy peers, 
And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, 

30 Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line. 

And though thou hadst small Latin and less 

Greek, 
From thence to honour thee I would not seek 
For names, but call forth thund'ring ^schylus, 
Euripides, and Sophocles to us, 

35 Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead. 
To life again, to hear thy buskin tread, 
And shake a stage; or when thy socks were on. 
Leave thee alone for a comparison 
Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome 

40 Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. 
Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show. 
To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. 
He was not of an age, but for all time ! 
And all the Muses still were in their prime, 

45 When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm 
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm! 
Nature herself was proud of his designs. 
And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines. 
Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, 

50 As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. 
The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, 
Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; 
But antiquated and deserted lie, 
As they were not of Nature's family. 

55 Yet must I not give Nature all; thy Art, 
My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part. 
For though the poet's matter nature be, 
His art doth give the fashion; and that he 



70 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Who casts to write a living line, must sweat 

60 (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat 
Upon the Muses' anvil, turn the same. 
And himself with it, that he thinks to frame ; 
Or for the laurel he may gain to scorn; 
For a good poet's made, as well as born. 

65 And such wert thou! Look, how the father's 
face 
Lives in his issue, even so the race 
Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly 

shines 
In his well turned and true filed lines. 
In each of which he seems to shake a lance, 

70 As brandished at the eyes of ignorance. 
Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were 
To see thee in our waters yet appear, 
And make those flights upon the banks of 

Thames, 
That so did take Eliza and our James ! 

75 But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere 
Advanced, and made a constellation there! 
Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage 
Or influence chide or cheer the drooping stage. 
Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned 
like night, 

80 And despairs day but for thy volume's light. 

SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS 

(From Epicoene; or, The Silent Woman, Act I. so. 1., 
1609-10) 

Still to be neat, still to be drest, 
As you were going to a feast; 
Still to be powdered, still perfumed: 
Lady, it is to be presumed, 
5 Though art's hid causes are not found, 
All is not sweet, all is not sound. 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYKICS 11 

Give me a look, give me a face. 
That makes simplicity a grace; 
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : 
10 Such sweet neglect more taketh me 
Than all the adulteries of art; 
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 

THE TRIUMPH OF CHARIS 
(From "A Celebration of Charis " in Underwoods, 1616) 

See the chariot at hand here of Love, 

Wherein my Lady rideth! 
Each that drav/s is a swan or a dove. 
And well the car Love guideth. 
5 As she goes, all hearts do duty 
Unto her beauty; 
And enamoured do wish, so they might 

But enjoy such a sight. 
That they still were to run by her side, 
10 Through swords, through seas, wither she would 
ride. 

Do but look on her eyes, they do light 

All that Love's world compriseth! 
Do but look on her hair, it is bright 

As Love's star when it riseth! 
15 Do but mark, her forehead's smoother 

Than words that soothe her; 
And from her arched brows, such a grace 

Sheds itself through the fac3. 
As alone there triumphs to the life 
20 All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife. 

Have you seen but a bright lily grow 
Before rude hands have touched it? 

Have you marked but the fall o' the snow 
Before the soil hath smutched it? 



12 SPENSEB TO DRYDEN 

25 Have you felt the wool of beaver? 
Or swan's down ever? 
Or have smelt o' the bud o' the briar? 

Or the nard in the fire? 
Or have tasted the bag of the bee? 
30 O so white, — so soft, — O so sweet is she! 



SONG.— TO CYNTHIA 

(From Cynthia's Revels, Act V. sc. 3, 1600) 

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair. 
Now the sun is laid to sleep; 
Seated in thy silver chair, 
State in wonted manner keep: 
5 Hesperus entreats thy light, 

Goddess excellently bright. 

Earth, let not thy envious shade 

Dare itself to interpose; 

Cynthia's shining orb was made 
10 Heaven to clear, when day did close; 
Bless us then with wished sight, 
Goddess excellently bright. 

Lay thy bow of pearl apart. 
And thy crystal-shining quiver; 
15 Give unto the flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short soever: 
Thou that makest a day of night. 
Goddess excellently bright. 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 73 

Mtiltam SbaF^espeare 

1564-1616 
SILVIA 

(From The Two Gentlemen of Verona, lY. 2, 1598 ; acted 
about 1593-93; 

Who is Silvia? what is she. 

That all our swains commend her? 

Holy, fair, and wise is she, 

The heaven such grace did l6nd her, 
5 That she might admired be. 

Is she kind as she is fair? 

For beauty lives with kindness: 
Love doth to her eyes repair. 

To help him of his blindness; 
10 And, being help'd, inhabits there. 

Then to Silvia let us sing, 

That Silvia is excelling: 
She excels each mortal thing. 

Upon the dull earth dwelling : 
15 To her let us garlands bring. 

UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE 
(From As You Like It, II. 5, acted 1599) 

Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me. 
And turn his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
5 Come hither, come hither, come hither: 

Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 



74 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Who doth ambition shun 
10 And love to live i' the sun. 

Seeking the food he eats 
And pleas'd with what he gets. 
Come hither, come hither, come hither: 
Here shall he see 
15 No enemy 

But winter and rough weather. 

O MISTRESS MINE, WHERE ARE YOU ROAMING 

(From TiDelfth Night, II. 3, about 1601) 

O mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, 

That can sing both high and low: 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting; 
5 Journeys end in lovers' meeting, 

Every wise man's son doth know. 

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter: 
Present mirth hath present laughter; 

What's to come is still unsure: 
10 In delay there lies no plenty ; 

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. 

Youth's a stuff will not endure. 

TAKE, OH, TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY 
(From Measure for Measure, IV. 1, 1603) 

Take, oh take those lips away. 

That so sweetly were forsworn; 
And those eyes, the break of day. 

Lights that do mislead the morn; 
5 But my kisses bring again, 

bring again. 
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, 

seal'd in vain. 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS V5 

HARK, HARK. THE LARK 
(From Cymbeline, II. 3, 1609) 

Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 

And Phoebus 'gins arise, 
His steeds to water at those springs 
On chalic'd flowers that lies ; 
And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their golden eyes; 
With everything that pretty is— My lady sweet, arise : 
Arise, arise. 

DIRGE 
(From the same, IV. 2) 

Fear no more the heat of the sun 

Nor the furious winter's rages ; 
Thou thy worldly task hast done. 

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: 
Golden lads and girls all must, 5 

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
Thou art past the tyrants' stroke; 

Care no more to clothe, and eat; 

To thee the reed is as the oak : 10 

The sceptre, learning, physic, must 

All follow this, and come to dust. 

Fear no more the light'ning flash; 

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; 

Fear not slander, censure rash; 15 

Thou hast finished joy and moan: 

All lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 



76 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

No exerciser harm thee! 

Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 20 

Ghost unlaid forbear thee! 

Nothing ill come near thee! 

Quiet consummation have; 

And renowned be thy grave! 

A SEA DIRGE 
(From The Temjyest, I. 2, 1610) 

Full fathom five thy father lies; 

Of his bones are coral made; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes: 

Nothing of him that doth fade, 

But doth suffer a sea-change 5 

Into something rich and strange. 

-Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: 

Ding-dong. 

Hark! now I hear them — Ding-dong bell. 

ARIEL'S SONG 
(From the same, Act V. sc. 1) 

Where the bee sucks, there suck I : 

In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 

There I couch when owls do cry. 

On the bat's back I do fly 

After summer merrily. 5 

Merrily, merrily shall I live now 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 



ELIZABETHAN SONNETS 

Sir pbiltp Si^nc^ 

1554-1586 
■ SONNET XXXI 

(From Astrophel and Stella, cir. 1591) 

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies ! 

How silently, and with how wan a face! 

What, may it be that even in heavenly place 

That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? 

Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eye 5 

Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; 

I read it in thy looks, thy languished grace. 

To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. 

Then ev'n of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, 

Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? 10 

Are beauties there as proud as here they be? 

Do they above love to be loved, and yet 

Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess ? 

Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? 

SONNET XXXIX— ON SLEEP 

(From the same) 

Come, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, 
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, 
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release. 
The indifferent judge between the high and low; 

77 



78 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

With shield of proof, shield me from out the prease 5 
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw: 

make in me those civil wars to cease; 

1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. 

Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed; 

A chamber deaf of noise, and blind of light; 10 

A rosy garland and a weary head: 

And if these things, as being thine in right, 

Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, 

Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. 



Samuel Daniel 

1562-1619 
SONNET LI 

(From Delia, Containing certain Sonnets, 1592) 

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, 
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born: 
Relieve my languish and restore the light; 
With dark forgetting of my care, return. 
And let the day be time enough to mourn 5 

The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth: 
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn 
Without the torment of the night's untruth. 
Cease dreams, the images of day desires. 
To model forth the passions of the morrow; 10 

Never let rising sun approve you liars. 
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow. 
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, 
And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 



ELIZABETHAN SONNETS 19 

/llMcbael Drayton 

1563-1631 
SONNET LXI 

(From Idea's Mirror, 1594) 

Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, 

Nay I have done, you get no more of me ; 

And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart. 

That thus so cleanly I myself can free; 

Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, 5 

And when we meet at any time again. 

Be it not seen in either of our brows 

That we one jot of former love retain. 

Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath. 

When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, 10 

When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 

And Innocence is closing up his eyes : 

Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over. 
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover. 

MilUam DrummonD 

1585-1649 
ON SLEEP 

(From Poems, Amorous, Funeral, etc., 1616) 

Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest. 

Prince whose approach peace to all mortals brings, 

Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings, 

Sole comforter of minds which are oppress'd; 

Lo, by thy charming rod, all breathing things 5 

Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulness possess'd, 

And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings 

Thou spar'st, alas ! who cannot be thy guest. 



80 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Since I am thine, O come, but with that face 

To inward light, which thou are wont to shew, 10 

With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe; 

Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace, 

Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath, 

I long to kiss the image of my death. 



Mtlltam Sbal^espeare 

SONNET XXIX 

(From Sonnets, 1595-1605) 

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
I all alone beweep my outcast state. 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
And look upon myself, and curse my fate. 
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 5 

Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, 
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope. 
With what I most enjoy contented least; 
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising. 
Haply I think on thee, and then my state, 10 

Like to the lark at break of day arising 
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate: 
For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings 
That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 

SONNET XXX 

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
I summon up remembrance of things past, 
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. 
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste : 
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 5 

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night. 
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe. 
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight : 



ELIZABETHAN SONNETS 81 

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er ■ 10 

The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 

Which I new pay as if not paid before. 

But if the while I think on thee, dear frier d. 
All losses are restored and sorrows end. 

SONNET XXXIII 

Full many a glorious morning have I seen 

Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye. 

Kissing with golden face the meadows green. 

Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; 

Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 5 

With ugly rack on his celestial face, 

And from the forlorn world his visage hide. 

Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: 

Even so my sun one early morn did shine 

With all-triumphant splendour on my brow; 10 

But, out, alack! he was but one hour mine, 

The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. 

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; 

Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun 
staineth. 

SONNET LX 

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore. 

So do our minutes hasten to their end; 

Each changing place with that which goes before, 

In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 

Nativity, once in the main of light, 5 

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd. 

Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, 

And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. 

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth 

And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, 10 



82 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, 
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: 
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, 
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 

SONNET LXXIII 

That time of year thou may'st in me behold 

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold. 

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 5 

As after sunset fadeth in the west; 

Which by and by black night doth take away. 

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire. 

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 10 

As the death-bed whereon it must expire. 

Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. 

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more 
strong. 

To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 

SONNET CXVI 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 

Admit impediments. Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds. 

Or bends with the remover to remove: 

O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark, 5 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken; 

It is the star to every wandering bark, 

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. 

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 

Within his bending sickle's compass come; 10 

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 

If this be error and upon me proved, 

I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 



ELIZABETHAN SONNETS 83 

3obn Donne 

1573-1631 

SONNET X.— ON DEATH 

(From Holy Sonnets, written before 1607) 

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow 

Die not, poor Death; nor yet cans't thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be, 5 

Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow: 

And soonest our best men with thee do go. 

Rest of their bones, and souls' delivery. 

Thou art slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate 

men. 
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 10 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well. 
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou, then? 
One short sleep pass, we wake eternally. 
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. 



MICHAEL DRAYTON 

/IDicbael Drayton 

1563-1631 
AGINCOURT 

TO MY FRIENDS THE CAMBER-BRITONS AND THEIR HARP 

(From Poems, Lyrics and Pastorals, 1605 ?) 

Fair stood the wind for France, 
When we our sails advance, 
And now to prove our chance 

Longer not tarry, 
5 But put unto the main. 

At Caux, the mouth of Seine, 
With all his warlike train. 

Landed King Harry. 

And taking many a fort, 
10 Furnished in warlike sort. 
Coming toward Agincourt 

In happy hour. 
Skirmishing day by day 
With those oppose his way, 
15 Where as the gen'ral lay 
With all his power: 

Which in his height of pride. 
As Henry to deride. 
His ransom to provide 
20 Unto him sending; 

84 



MICHAEL DRAYTON 85 

Which he neglects the while, 
As from a nation vile, 
Yet with an angry smile. 
Their fall portending; 

25 And, turning to his men. 
Quoth famous Henry then, 
^ Though they to one be ten, 

Be not amazM; 
Yet have we well begun, 
30 Battles so bravely won 
Ever more to the sun 
By fame are raised. 

'And for myself,' quoth he, 

' This my full rest shall be, 
35 England ne'er mourn for me, 
Nor more esteem me. 

Victor I will remain. 

Or on this earth be slain, 

Never shall she sustain 
40 Loss to redeem me. 

'Poyters and Cressy tell, 

When most their pride did swell. 

Under our swords they fell, 

No less our skill is 
45 Than when our grandsire great. 
Claiming the regal seat, 
In many a warlike feat 

Lopp'd the French lilies.* 

The Duke of York so dread, 
50 The eager vaward led; 

With the main Henry sped. 
Amongst his henchmen. 



86 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Excester had the rear, 
A braver man not there, 
55 And now preparing were 

For the false Frenchman, 

And ready to be gone, 
Armor on armor shone. 
Drum unto drum did groan, 
60 To hear was wonder; 

That with the cries they make 
The very earth did shake. 
Trumpet to trumpet spake. 
Thunder to thunder. 

65 Well it thine aids became, 
O noble Erpingham, 
Thou did'st the signal frame 

Unto the forces; 
When from a meadow by, 
70 Like a storm suddenly. 
The English archery 

Stuck the French horses. 

The Spanish yew so strong. 
Arrows a cloth-yard long, 

75 That like to serpents stong, 
Piercing the wether; 
None from his death now starts. 
But playing manly parts, 
And like true English hearts 

80 Stuck close together. 

When down their bows they threw, 
And forth their bilbows drew. 
And on the French they flew: 
'No man was tardy; 



MICHAEL DEAYTON 8V 

85 Arms from the shoulders sent, 
Scalps to the teeth were rent, 
Down the French peasants went, 
These were men hardy. 

When now that noble king, 
90 His broad sword brandishing. 
Into the host did fling, 

As to overwhelm it; 
Who many a deep wound lent. 
His arms with blood besprent, 
95 And many a cruel dent 
Bruised his helmet. 

Gloster, that duke so good, 
Next of the royal blood. 
For famous England stood, 
100 With his brave brother, 

Clarence, in steel most bright. 
That yet a maiden knight. 
Yet in this furious fight 
Scarce such another. 

105 Warwick in blood did wade, 
Oxford the foes invade. 
And cruel slaughter made. 

Still as they ran up; 
Suffolk his axe did ply, 
110 Beaumont and Willoughby 
Bear them right doughtily, 
Ferrers and Fanhope. 

On happy Crispin day 

Fought was this noble fray, 
115 Which fame did not delay 
To England to carry; 

O when shall Englishmen, 

With such acts fill a pen? 

Or England breed again 
120 Such a King Harry? 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 
3obn IDonnc 

1573-1631 

AN ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF THE LADY 
MARKHAM 

(First published 1688) 

Man is the world, and death the ocean 
To which God gives the lower parts of man. 
This sea environs all, and though as yet 
God hath set marks and bounds 'twixt us and it, 
5 Yet doth it roar and gnaw, and still pretend 
To break our bank, whene'er it takes a friend: 
Then our land-waters (tears of passion) vent; 
Our waters then above our firmament — 
Tears, which our soul doth for her sin let fall, — 

10 Take all a brackish taste, and funeral. 

And even those tears, which should wash sin, are 

sin. 
We, after God, new drown our world again. 
Nothing but man of all envenom'd things. 
Doth work upon itself with inborn stings. 

15 Tears are false spectacles; we cannot see 

Through passion's mist, what we are, or what she. 
In her this sea of death hath made no breach; 
But as the tide doth wash the shining beach. 
And leaves embroider'd works upon the sand, 

20 So is her flesh refin'd by Death's cold hand. 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 89 

As men of China, after an age's stay, 
Do take up porcelain, where they buried clay, 
So at this grave, her limbec (which refines 
The diamonds, rubies, sapphires, pearls and 
mines, 

25 Of which this flesh was) her soul shall inspire 
Flesh of such stuff, as God, when His last fire 
Annuls this world, to recompense it, shall 
Make and name them th' elixir of this all. 
They say the sea, when th' earth it gains, loseth 
too; 

30 If carnal Death, the younger brother, do 
Usurp the body; our soul, which subject is 
To th' elder Death by sin, is free by this; 
They perish both, when they attempt the just; 
For graves our trophies are, and both Death's 
dust. 

35 So, unobnoxious now, she hath buried both; 
For none to death sins, that to sin is loath, 
Nor do they die, which are not loath to die; 
So she hath this and that virginity. 
Grace was in her extremely diligent, 

40 That kept her from sin, yet made her repent. 
Of what small spots pure white complains! 

Alas! 
How little poison cracks a crystal glass ! 
She sinn'd, but just enough to let us see 
That God's word must be true,— all sinners he. 

45 So much did zeal her conscience rarify, 
That extreme truth lack'd little of a lie. 
Making omissions acts; laying the touch 
Of sin on things, that sometimes may be such. 
As Moses' cherubims, whose natures do 

50 Surpass all speed, by him are winged too. 

So would her soul, already in heaven, seem then 
To climb by tears the common stairs of men. 
How fit she was for God, I am content 



90 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

To speak, that Death his vain haste may repent; 

55 How fit for us, how even and how sweet. 
How good in all her titles, and how meet 
To have reform'd this forward heresy. 
That women can no parts of friendship be; 
How moral, how divine, shall not be told, 

60 Lest they, that hear her virtues, think her old: 
And lest we take Death's part, and make him glad 
Of such a prey, and to his triumphs add. 



A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING 

(Sometimes called " Upon Parting from his Mistris," 
written, 1612?) 

As virtuous men pass mildly away. 
And whisper to their souls to go, 

Whilst some of their sad friends do say, 
* Now his breath goes,' and some say, ' No ; 

5 So let us melt, and make no noise, 

No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; 
'Twere profanation of our joys, 
To tell the laity our love. 

Moving of th' earth brings harm and fears, 
10 Men reckon what it did, and meant ; 
But trepidations of the spheres. 
Though greater far, are innocent. 

Dull sublunary Lovers' love, 

(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit 
15 Absence; for that it doth remxDve 

Those things which elemented it. 

But we, by a love so far refin'd 

That ourselves know not what it is. 
Inter-assured of the mind 
20 Careless eyes, lips, and hands, to miss. 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 91 

Our two souls therefore, which are one, 
Though I must go, endure not yet 

A breach, but an expansion. 
Like gold to airy thinness beat. 

25 If they be two, they are two so 

As stiff twin compasses are two; 
Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show, 
To move, but doth if th' other do. 

And though it in the centre sit, 
30 Yet when the other fair doth roam, 
It leans and barkens after it. 
And grows erect, as that comes home. 

Such wilt thou be to me, who must 
Like th' other foot, obliquely run; 
35 Thy firmness makes my circle just. 
And makes me end where I begun. 



SONG 

(From Poems, with Elegies on the Author's Death, 1633) 

Sweetest Love, I do not go 

For weariness of thee, 
Nor in hope the world can show 

A fitter Love for me; 
5 But since that I 
Must die at last, 'tis best 
Thus to use myself in jest. 

Thus by feigned death to die. 

Yesternight the sun went hence, 
10 And yet is here to-day; 
He hath no desire nor sense, 
Nor half so short a way. 



92 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Then fear not me; 
But believe that I shall make 
15 Hastier journeys, since I take 
More wings and spurs than he. 

O how feeble is man's power, 

That, if good fortune fall. 
Cannot add another hour, 
20 Nor a lost hour recall. 

But come bad chance, 
And we join to it our strength. 
And we teach it art and length. 

Itself o'er us t' advance. 

25 When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st no wind. 
But sigh'st my soul away; 
When thou weep'st, unkindly kind. 
My life's-blood doth decay. 
It cannot be 
30 That thou lov'st me as thou say'st, 
If in thine my life thou waste 
That art the best of me. 

Let not thy divining heart 
Forethink me any ill ; 
35 Destiny may take thy part 
And may thy fears fulfil; 
But think that we 
Are but turned aside to sleep: 
They, who one another keep 
40 Alive, ne'er parted be. 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 93 

A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER 

(First published 1631) 

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun. 
Which was my sin, though it were done before ? 

Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run 
And do run still, though still I do deplore ? 

When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done; 5 

For I have more. 

Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won 
Others to sin, and made my sins their door? 
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun 
10 A box where sweets compacted lie. 
When Thou hast done. Thou hast not done; 
For I have more. 

I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun 
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ; 

But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son 15 
Shall shine, as He shines now and heretofore : 

And having done that. Thou hast done; 
I fear no more. 



GcovQC Iberbert 

1593-1633 

VERTUE 

(From The Temple, 1631) 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
The bridall of the earth and skie: 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; 
For thou must die. 



94 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

5 Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave 
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye. 
Thy root is ever in its grave. 
And thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
10 A box where sweets compacted lie, 
My musick shows ye have your closes. 
And all must die. 

Only a sweet and vertuous soul, 
Like season'd timber, never gives ; 
15 But though the whole world turn to coal, 
Then chiefly lives. 



THE PULLEY 

(From the same) 

When God at first made man. 
Having a glasse of blessings standing by, 

* Let us,' said He, * poure on him all we can; 
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, 

5 Contract into a span.' 

So strength first made a way; 
Then beautie flow'd, then wisdome, honour, 

pleasure ; 
When almost all was out, God made a stay, 
Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure, 
10 Rest in the bottome lay. 

* For if I should,' eaid He, 

* Bestow this Jewell also on My creature, 
He would adore My gifts in stead of Me, 
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature: 

15 So both should losers be. 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 95 

Yet let him keep the rest. 
But keep them with repining restlessnesse : 
Let him be rich and wearie, that at least, 
If goddnesse leade him not, yet wearinesse 
20 May tosse him to my breast.' 

THE ELIXIR 
(From the same) 

Teach me, my God and King, 
In all things Thee to see. 
And what I do in anything 
To do it as for Thee: 

5 'Not rudely, as a beast. 

To runne into an action; 

But still to make Thee prepossest. 

And give it his perfection. 

A man that looks on glasse, 
10 On it may stay his eye; 

Or if he pleaseth, through it passe, 
And then the heav'n espie. 

All may of Thee partake : 
Nothing can be so mean, 
15 Which with his tincture ^ for Thy sake,' 
Will not grow bright and clean. 

A servant with this clause 
Makes drudgerie divine ; 
Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws, 
20 Makes that and th' action fine. 

This is the famous stone 
That turneth all to gold ; 
For that which God doth touch and own 
Cannot for lesse be told. 



96 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

THE COLLAR 

(From the same) 

I struck the board, and cry'd, ' No more; 

I will abroad.' 
What, shall I ever sigh and pine ? 
My lines and life are free ; free as the road, 

Loose as the winde, as large as store. 5 

Shall I be still in suit ? 
Have I no harvest but a thorn 
To let me bloud and not restore 
What I have lost with cordiall fruit? 

Sure there was wine, 10 

Before my sighs did drie it ; there was corn 

Before my tears did drown it ; 
Is the yeare onely lost to me? 
Have I no bayes to crown it, 
'No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted, 15 

All wasted? 
Not so, my heart; but there is fruit. 
And thou hast hands. 
Recover all thy sigh-blown age 
On double pleasures ; leave thy cold dispute 20 

Of what is fit and not ; forsake thy cage, 

Thy rope of sands 
Which pettie thoughts have made ; and made to thee 
Good cable, to enforce and draw. 

And be thy law, 25 

While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. 
Away ! take heed ; 
I will abroad. 
Call in thy death's-head there, tie up thy fears ; 

He that forbears 30 

To suit and serve his need 

Deserves his load. 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 97 

But as I raved and grew more fierce and wilde 
At every word, 
35 Methought I heard one calling, ' Childe ' ; 
And I reply'd, ' My Lord.' 



Ibenri^ IDau^ban 

1621-1695 

THE RETREATE 

(From Silex Scintillans, Part I., 1650) 

Happy those early dayes, when I 
Shin'd in my Angell-inf ancy ! - 
Before I understood this place 
Appointed for my second race, 
5 Or taught my soul to fancy ought 
But a white, celestiall thought; 
When yet I had not walkt above 
A mile or two from my first Love, 
And looking back, at that short space, 

10 Could see a glimpse of his bright face ; 
When on some gilded Cloud or Flowre 
My gazing soul would dwell an houre, 
And in those weaker glories spy 
Some shadows of eternity ; 

15 Before I ti«tight my tongue to wound 
My conscience with a sinfull sound. 
Or had the black art to dispence 
A sev'rall sinne to ev'ry sense, 
But felt through all this fleshly dresse 

20 Bright shootes of everlastingnesse. 
O how I long to travell back. 
And tread again that ancient track! 
That I might once more reach that plains, 
Where first I left my glorious traine ; 



98 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

25 From whence th' inlightened spirit sees 
That shady City of Palme trees. 
But ah ! my soul with too much stay 
Is drunk, and staggers in the way ! 
Some men a forward motion love, 

30 But I by backward steps would move; 
And, when this dust falls to the urn. 
In that state I came, return. 



DEPARTED FRIENDS 

(From Silex Scintillans, Part II. , 1655) 

They are all gone into the world of light ! 

x\nd I alone sit ling'ring here ! 
Their very memory is fair and bright. 

And my sad thoughts doth clear. 

6 It glows and glitters in my cloudy brest 
Like stars upon some gloomy grove, 
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest 
After the Sun's remove. 

I see them walking in an air of glory 
10 Whose light doth trample on my days; 

My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, 
Meer glimmerings and decays. 

O holy Hope! and high Humility! 
High as the Heavens above; 
15 These are your walks, and you have shew'd them 
me 
To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous Death; the Jewel of the Just! 

Shining nowhere but in the dark; 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 
20 Could man outlook that mark! 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 99 

He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may- 
know 

At first sight if the bird be flown; 
But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, 

That is to him unknown. 

25 And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams 
Call to the soul when man doth sleep, 
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted 
theams 
And into glory peep. 

If a star were confin'd into a tomb, 
30 Her captive flames must needs burn there; 
But when the hand that lockt her up gives room, 
She'll shine through all the sphere. 

O Father of eternal life, and all 
Created glories under thee! 
35 Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall 
Into true liberty! 

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill 

My perspective still as they pass; 
Or else remove me hence unto that hill 
40 Where I shall need no glass. 

GcovQC Mttber 

1588-1667 
THE AUTHOR'S RESOLUTION IN A SONNET 

(From Fidelia, 1615) 

Shall I, wasting in despaire 
Dye, because a woman's fair? 
Or make pale my cheeks with care 
Cause anothers Rosie are? 



100 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

5 Be she fairer than the Day 
Or the flowry Meads in May, 
If she thinke not well of me, 
What care I how faire she be? 

Shall my seely heart be pin'd 
10 Cause I see a woman kind? 
Or a well disposed Nature 
Joyned with a lovely feature? 
Be she Meeker, Kinder than 
Turtle-dove or Pellican: 
15 If she be not so to me. 

What care I how kind she be? 

Shall a woman's Vertues move 
Me to perish for her Love? 
Or her wel deservings knowne 
20 Make me quite forget mine own? 
Be she with that Goodness blest 
Which may merit name of best : 
If she be not such to me, 
What care I how Good she be? 

25 Cause her Fortune seems too high 
Shall I play the fool and die? 
She that beares a Noble mind, 
If not outward helpes she find. 
Thinks what with them he wold do, 
30 That without them dares her woe. 
And unlesse that Minde I see 
What care I how great she be? 

Great, or Good, or Kind, or Faire 
I will ne're the more despaire: 
35 If she love me (this beleeve) 
I will Die ere she shall grieve. 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 101 

If she slight me when I woe, 
I can scorne and let her goe, 
For if she be not for me 
40 What care I for whom she be? 

Hbrabam Cowley 

1618-1667 

A VOTE 

(From Poetical Blossoms, second ed., 1636) 

65 This only grant me, that my means may lie 
Too low for envy, for contempt too high. 

Some honour I would have, 
Not from great deeds, but good alone; 
The unknown are better than ill known: 

70 Rumour can ope the grave. 

Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends 
Not on the number, but the choice of friends. 

Books should, not business, entertain the light. 
And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night. 
75 My house a cottage more 

Than palace, and should fitting be 
For all my use, no luxury. 

My garden painted o'er 
With nature's hand, not art's; and pleasures 
yield, 
80 Horace might envy in his Sabine field. 

Thus would I double my life's fading space, 
For he that runs it well, twice runs his race. 

And in this true delight. 
These unbought sports, this happy state, 
85 I would nor fear, nor wish my fate, 
But boldly say each night. 
To-morrow let my sun his beams display, 
Or in clouds hide them, I have liv'd to-day. 



102 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

THE GRASSHOPPER 

(From Miscellanies, 1650) 

Happy Insect what can be 

In happiness compared to thee? 

Fed with nourishment divine, 

The dewy morning's gentle wine ! 
5 Nature waits upon thee still, 

And thy verdant cup does fill. 

'Tis fiird where ever thou dost tread, 

Nature selfe's thy Ganimed. 

Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing; 
10 Happier than the happiest King! 

All the fields which thou dost see. 

All the plants belong to thee. 

All that summer hours produce. 

Fertile made with early juice. 
15 Man for thee does sow and plow; 

Farmer he and land-lord thou! 

Thou doest innocently joy; 

Nor does thy luxury destroy; 

The shepherd gladly heareth thee, 
20 More harmonious than he. 

Thee country hindes with gladness hear. 

Prophet of the ripened year ! 

Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire; 

Phoebus is himself thy sire. 
25 To thee of all things upon earth. 

Life is no longer than thy mirth, 

Happy insect, happy thou. 

Dost neither age, nor winter know, 

But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung, 
30 Thy fill, the flowery leaves among 

(Voluptuous, and wise with all. 

Epicurean animal!) 

Sated with thy summer feast, 

Thou retir'st to endless rest. 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 103 

James Sbtrle^ 

1596-1667 
A DIRGE 

(From The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses, 1659) 

The glories of our blood and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things; 
There is no armour against fate; 
Death lays his icy hand on kings : 
5 Sceptre and crown 

Must tumble down, 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 
10 And plant fresh laurels where they kill; 
But their strong nerves at last must yield; 
They tame but one another still: 
Early or late 
They stoop to fate, 
15 And must give up their murmuring breath. 
When they, poor captives, creep to death. 

The garlands wither on your brow. 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
Upon Death's purple altar now 
20 See, where the victor-victim bleeds: 
Your heads must come 
To the cold tomb. 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. 



104 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

XTbomas Carew 

1589-1639 
DISDAIN RETURNED 

(Printed, without concluding stanza, in Porter's Madrigalles 
and Ay res, 1632) 

He that loves a rosy cheek, 

Or a coral lip admires; 
Or from star-like eyes doth seek 

Fuel to maintain his fires, 
5 As old Time makes these decay. 
So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind. 

Gentle thoughts and calm desires, 
Hearts, with equal love combined, 
10 Kindle never-dying fires; 
Where these art not, I despise 
Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. 

No tears, Celia, now shall win. 

My resolved heart to return; 
15 I have searched thy soul within 

And find nought but pride and scorn; 
I have learned thy arts, and now 
Can disdain as much as thou! 

Sir 3obn Suc??ltnG 

1609-1641 

ORSAMES' SONG. 

(From Aglaura, acted 1637) 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover? 

Prithee, why so pale? 
Will, when looking well can't move her. 

Looking ill prevail? 
5 Prithee, why so pale? 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 105 

Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 

Prithee, why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her, 
Saying nothing do't? 
10 Prithee, why so mute? 

Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move: 

This cannot take her. 
If of herself she will not love, 

Nothing can make her : 
15 The devil take her ! 



IRicbarb Xovelace 

1618-1658 

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS 

(From Lucasta, 1649) 

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, 

That from the nunnery 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind 

To war and arms I fly. 

6 True, a new mistress now I chase. 
The first foe in the field. 
And with a stronger faith embrace 
A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconsistancy is such 
10 As you, to J, shall adore, — 

I could not love thee, dear, so much, 
Loved I not honour more. 



106 SPENSEE TO DRYDEN 

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON 

(From the same) 

When Love with unconfined wings 

Hovers within my gates, 
And my divine Althea brings ! 

To whisper at the grates; 
5 When I lie tangled in her hair, 

And fettered to her eye. 
The birds that wanton in the air 

Know no such liberty. 

When flowing cups run swiftly round 
10 With no allaying Thames, 

Our careless heads with roses bound. 

Our hearts with loyal flames; 
When thirsty grief in wine we steep .. 

When healths and draughts go free, jl 

15 Fishes that tipple in the deep '■ 

Know no such liberty. 

When, like committed linnets, I 

With shriller throat shall sing 
The sweetness, mercy, majesty, 
20 And glories of my King; 

When I shall voice aloud, how good 

He is, how great should be. 
Enlarged winds that curl the flood 

Know no such liberty. 

25 Stone walls do not a prison make, 
]^or iron bars a cage; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 
That for an hermitage; 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 107 

If I have freedom in my love, 
30 And in my soul am free. 
Angels alone, that soar above, 
Enjoy such liberty. 



IRobert Iberricft 

1591-1674 
ARGUMENT TO HESPERIDES 

(From Hesperides, 1648) 

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers. 
Of April, May, of June and July-flowers; 
I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes. 
Of bride-grooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes ; 
6 I write of youth, of love, and have access 
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness ; 
I sing of dews, of rains, and, piece by piece 
Of balm, of oil, of spice and ambergris ; 
T sing of times trans-shifting, and I write 
10 How roses first came red and lilies white ; 
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing 
The Court of Mab, and of the fairy king; 
I write of hell; I sing, (and ever shall) 
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all. 

CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING 

(From the same) 

Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn 
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. 
See how Aurora throws her fair 
Fresh-quilted colours through the air : 
5 Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see 
The dew bespangling herb and tree. 



108 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east 
Above an hour since: yet you not dress'd; 
Nay! not so much as out of bed? 
10 When all the birds have matins said 

And sung: their thankful hymns, 'tis sin, 
Nay, profanation to keep in, 
Whenas a thousand virgins on this day 
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May. 

15 Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen 

To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and 
green. 
And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
For jewels for your gown or hair; 
Fear not ; the leaves will strew 
20 Gems in abundance upon you: 

Besides, the childhood of the day has kept. 
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept; 
Come and receive them while the light 
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night: 
25 And Titan on the eastern hill 

Retires himself, or else stands still 
Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in 

praying : 
Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying. 

Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark 
30 How each field turns a street, each street a park 
Made green and trimm'd with trees ; see how 
Devotion gives each house a bough 
Or branch: each porch, each door ere this 
An ark, a tabernacle is, 
35 Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove; 
As if here were those cooler shades of love. 
Can such delights be in the street 
And open fields and we not see 't? 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 109 

Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey 
40 The proclamation made for May; 

And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; 
But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying. 

There's not a budding boy or girl this day 
But is got up, and gone to bring in May. 
45 A deal of youth, ere this, is come 

Back, and with white-thorn laden home. 
Some have dispatched their cakes and cream, 
Before that we have left to dream : 
And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted 
troth, 
60 And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth: 
Many a green-gown has been given; 
Many a kiss, both odd and even: 
Many a glance, too, has been sent 
From out the eye, love's firmament; 
65 Many a jest told of the keys betraying 

This night, and locks pick'd, yet we're not 
a-Maying. 

Come, let us go while we are in our prime; 
And take the harmless folly of the time. 
We shall grow old apace, and die 
60 Before we know our liberty. 

Our life is short, and our days run 
As far away as does the sun : 
And, as a vapour or a drop of rain 
Once lost, can ne'er be found again, 
65 So when you or I are made 

A fable, song, or fleeting shade. 
All love, all liking, all delight 
Lies drowned with us in endless night. 
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, 
70 Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying. 



110 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW 

(From the same) 

Why do yet weep, sweet babes? can tears 
Speak grief in you, 
Who were but born 
Just as the modest morn 

Teem'd her refreshing dew ? 5 

Alas! you have not known that shower 
That mars a flower, 
Nor felt th' unkind 
Breath of a blasting wind. 
Nor are ye worn with years, 10 

Or warp'd as we. 
Who think it strange to see 
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, 
To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue. 

Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known 15 
The reason why 
Ye droop and weep; 
Is it for want of sleep? 
Or childish lullaby? 
Or that ye have not seen as yet 20 

The violet? 
Or brought a kiss 
From that sweetheart to this? 
No, no, this sorrow shown 

By your tears shed 25 

Would have this lecture read: 
That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, 
Conceiv'd with grief are, and with tears brought forth. 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 111 

TO THE VIRGINS. TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME 

(From the same) 

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 

Old time is still a-flying: 
And this same flower that smiles to-day 
To-morrow will be dying. 

5 The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, 
The higher he's a-getting. 
The sooner will his race be run. 
And nearer he's to setting. 

That age is best which is the first, 
10 When youth and blood are warmer; 
But being spent, the worse, and worst 
Times still succeed the former. 

Then be not coy, but use your time. 
And while ye may go marry: 
15 For having lost but once your prime 
You may forever tarry. 

TO DAFFODILS 
(From the same) 

Fair daffodils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon; 
As yet the early-rising sun 
Has not attain'd his noon. 
5 Stay, stay. 

Until the hasting day 

Has run 
But to the evensong; 
And, having prayed together, we 
10 Will go with you along. 



112 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

We have short time to stay, as you. 

We have as short a spring; 
As quick a growth to meet decay. 
As you, or anything. 
15 We die. 

As your hours do, and dry 

Away, 
Like to the summer's rain; 
Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
20 Ne'er to be found again. 

THE HAG 
(From the same) 

The hag is astride 

This night for to ride, 
The devil and she together; 

Through thick and through thin, 
6 Now out and then in, 

Though ne'er so foul be the weather. 

A thorn or a burr 

She takes for a spur, 
With a lash of a bramble she rides now; 
10 Through brakes and through briars. 

O'er ditches and mires. 
She follows the spirit that guides now. 

No beast for his food 
Dare now range the wood, 
15 But hush'd in his lair he lies lurking; 
While mischiefs, by these. 
On land and on seas, 
At noon of night are a-working. 

The storm will arise 
20 And trouble the skies; 



1 



SEVENTEENTH CENTUKY SONGS 113 

This night, and more for the wonder. 

The ghost from the tomb 

Affrighted shall come, 
Call'd out by the clap of the thunder. 

1605-1687 
ON A GIRDLE 

(From Poems, 1645) 

That which her slender waist confin'd, 
Shall now my joyful temples bind; 
No monarch but would give his crown, 
His arms might do what this has done. 

5 It was my heaven's extremest sphere, 
The pale which held that lovely deer. 
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love. 
Did all within this circle move. 

A narrow compass, and yet there 

10 Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair: 

Give me but what this riband bound. 

Take all the rest the sun goes round. 

SONG 
(From the same) 
Go, lovely Rose, 

Tell her that wastes her time and me, 
That now she knows 
When I resemble her to thee, 
6 How sweet and fair she seems to be. 

Tell her that's young, 
And shuns to have her graces spied, 
That had'st thou sprung 
In deserts where no men abide, 
10 Thou must have un commended died. 



114 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired; 
Bid her come forth, 
Suffer herself to be desired, 
15 And not blush so to be admired. 

Then die, that she 
The common fate of all things rare 
May read in thee ; 

How small a part of time they share, 
20 That are so wondrous sweet and fair. 

ON THE FOREGOING DIVINE POEMS 

(1686 ?) 

When we for age could neither read nor write, 
The subject made us able to indite. 
The soul, with nobler resolutions deckt, 
The body stooping, does herself erect: 
5 ISTo mortal parts are requisite to raise 
Her, that unbody'd can her Maker praise. 
The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er: 
So, calm are we, when passions are no more: 
For, then we know how vain it was to boast 

10 Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. 
Clouds of affection from our younger eyes 
Conceal that emptiness, which age decries. 

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd. 
Lets in new light, thro' chinks that time has 
made: 

15 Stronger by weakness, wiser, men become. 
As they draw near to their eternal home. 
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view. 
That stand upon the threshold of the new. 



JOHN MILTON 
Jobn /nMlton 

1608-1674 
L'ALLEGRO 

(1634) 

Hence, loathed Melancholy, 
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born 
In Stygian cave forlorn, 

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights 
unholy ! 
5 Find out some uncouth cell, 

"Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous 
wings. 
And the night-raven sings ; 

There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, 
As ragged as thy locks, 
10 In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 
But come, thou Goddess fair and free, 
In heaven ycleped Euphrosyne, 
And by men heart-easing Mirth; 
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth, 
15 With two sister Graces more, 
To ivy-crowndd Bacchus bore: 
Or whether (as some sager sing) 
The frolic wind that breathes the spring, 
Zephyr, with Aurora playing, 
20 As he met her once a-Maying, 
There, on beds of violets blue, 
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, 
115 



116 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Filled her with thee, a daughter fair, 
So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 

25 Haste thee, ISTymph, and bring with thee 
Jest, and youthful Jollity, 
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles, 
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles. 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, 

30 And love to live in dimple sleek; 
Sport that wrinkled Care derides. 
And Laughter holding both his sides. 
Come, and trip it, as you go. 
On the light fantastic toe ; 

35 And in thy right hand lead with thee 
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty; 
And, if I give thee honour due, 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew. 
To live with her, and live with thee, 

40 In unreproved pleasures free; 

To hear the lark begin his flight. 
And, singing, startle the dull night. 
From his watch-tower in the skies, 
TiU the dappled dawn doth rise; 

45 Then to come in spite of sorrow, 
And at my window bid good-morrow. 
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine. 
Or the twisted eglantine; 
While the cock, with lively din, 

50 Scatters the rear of darkness thin ; 
And to the stack, or the barn-door. 
Stoutly struts his dames before: 
Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, 

55 From the side of some hoar hill, 

Through the high wood echoing shrill : 
Some time walking, not unseen, 
By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green, 
Eight against the eastern gate 



JOHN MILTON 117 

60 Where the great Sun begins his state 

Robed in flames and amber light, 

The clouds in thousand liveries dight; 

While the ploughman, near at hand. 

Whistles o'er the furrowed land, 
65 And the milkmaid singeth blithe. 

And the mower whets his scythe, 

And every shepherd tells his tale 

Under the hawthorn in the dale. 

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, 
70 Whilst the landskip round it measures: 

Kusset lawns, and fallows gray. 

Where the nibbling flocks do stray; 

Mountains, on whose barren breast 

The labouring clouds do often rest; 
75 Meadows trim, with daisies pied. 

Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; 

Towers and battlements it sees 

Bosomed high in tufted trees, 

Where perhaps some beauty lies, 
80 The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 

Hard by a cottage chimney smokes 

From betwixt two aged oaks. 

Where Corydon and Thyrsis met. 

Are at their savoury dinner set 
85 Of herbs, and other country messes. 

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; 

And then in haste her bower she leaves. 

With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; 

Or, if the earlier season lead, 
90 To the tanned haycock in the mead. 
Sometimes, with secure delight. 

The upland hamlets will invite. 

When the merry bells ring round. 

And the jocund rebecks sound 
95 To many a youth and many a maid 

Dancing in the checkered shade, 



118 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

And young and old come forth to play- 
On a sunshine holyday, 
Till the livelong daylight fail : 

100 Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 
With stories told of many a feat, 
How Faery Mab the junkets eat. 
She was pinched and pulled, she said; 
And he, by Friar's lantern led, 

105 Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 
To earn his cream-bowd duly set. 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn. 
His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn 
That ten day-labourers could not end; 

110 Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 

And, stretched out all the chimney's length, 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 
And crop-full out of doors he flings. 
Ere the first cock his matin rings. 

115 Thus done the tales, to bed they creep. 
By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 

Towered cities please us then. 
And the busy hum of men. 
Where throngs of knights and barons bold, 

120 In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold. 
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize 
Of wit or arms, while both contend 
To win her grace whom all commend. 

125 There let Plymen oft appear 

In saffron robe, with taper clear, 
And pomp, and feast, and revelry, 
With mask and antique pageantry; 
Such sights as youthful poets dream 

130 On summer eves by haunted stream. 
Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
If Jonson's learned sock be on, 
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child. 
Warble his native wood-notes wild. 



JOHN MILTON 119 

135 And ever, against eating cares, 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs. 
Married to immortal verse, 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce. 
In notes with many a winding bout 

140 Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 
With wanton heed and giddy cunning. 
The melting voice through mazes running. 
Untwisting all the chains that tie 
The hidden soul of harmony; 

145 That Orpheus' self may heave his head 
From golden slumber on a bed 
Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear 
Such strains as would have won the ear 
Of Pluto to have quite set free 

150 His half-regained Eurydice. 

These delights if thou canst give. 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 



IL PENSEROSO 

(1634) 

Hence, vain deluding Joys, 
The brood of Folly without father bred! 
How little you bested. 

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys ! 
5 Dwell in some idle brain. 

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess. 
As thick and numberless 
As the gay motes that people the sun-beams. 
Or likest hovering dreams, 
10 The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. 
But, hail! thou Goddess sage and holy. 
Hail, divinest Melancholy! 
Whose saintly visage is too bright 
To hit the sense of human sight. 



120 SPENSEB TO DKYDEN 

15 And therefore to our weaker view 

O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue; 
Black, but such as in esteem 
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, 
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove 
20 To set her beauty's praise above 

The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended. 
Yet thou art higher far descended: 
Thee bright -haired Vesta long of yore 
To solitary Saturn bore; 
25 His daughter she; in Saturn's reign 
Such mixture was not held a stain. 
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida's inmost grove, 
30 Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. 

Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure. 
All in a robe of darkest grain. 
Flowing with majestic train, 
35 And sable stole of cypress lawn 
Over thy decent shoulders drawn. 
Come; but keep thy wonted state, 
With even step, and musing gait. 
And looks commercing with the skies, 
40 Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : 
There, held in holy passion still, 
Forget thyself to marble, till 
With a sad leaden downward cast 
Thou fix them on the earth as fast. 
45 And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, 
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet. 
And hears the Muses in a ring 
Aye round about Jove's altar sing; 
And add to these retired Leisure, 
50 That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; 
But, first and chiefest, with thee bring 



i 



JOHN MILTON 121 

Him that yon soars on golden wing, 

Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, 

The Cherub Contemplation; 
55 And the mute Silence hist along, 

'Less Philomel will deign a song. 

In her sweetest saddest plight. 

Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, 

While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 
60 Gently o'er the accustomed oak. 

Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly. 

Most musical, most melancholy! 

Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among 

I woo, to hear thy even-song; 
65 And, missing thee, I walk unseen 

On the dry smooth-shaven green, 

To behold the wandering moon. 

Riding near her highest noon. 

Like one that had been led astray 
70 Through the heaven's wide pathless way. 

And oft, as if her head she bowed. 

Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 
Oft, on a plat of rising ground, 

I hear the far-off curfew sound, 
75 Over some wide-watered shore. 

Swinging slow with sullen roar; 

Or, if the air will not permit. 

Some still removed place will fit. 

Where glowing embers through the room 
80 Teach light to counterfeit a gloom. 

Far from all resort of mirth, 

Save the cricket on the hearth. 

Or the bellman's drowsy charm 

To bless the doors from nightly harm. 
85 Or let my lamp, at midnight hour. 

Be seen in some high lonely tower. 

Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, 

With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere 



122 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

The spirit of Plato, to unfold 
90 What worlds or what vast regions hold 
The immortal mind that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshly nook ; 
And of those demons that are found 
In fire, air, flood, or underground, 
95 Whose power hath a true consent 
With planet or with element. 
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 
In sceptred pall come sweeping by, 
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, 

100 Or the tale of Troy divine. 

Or what (though rare) of later age 
Ennobled hath the buskined stage. 

But, O sad Virgin ! that thy power 
Might raise Musseus from his bower; 

105 Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 

Such notes as, warbled to the string, 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek. 
And made Hell grant what love did seek; 
Or call up him that left half -told 

110 The story of Cambuscan bold. 
Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 
And who had Canace to wife. 
That owned the virtuous ring and glass. 
And of the wondrous horse of brass 

115 On which the Tartar king did ride ; 
And if aught else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung. 
Of turneys, and of trophies hung, 
Of forests, and enchantments drear, 

120 Where more is meant than meets the ear. 

Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, 
Till civil-suited Morn appear, 
Not tricked and frounced, as she was wont 
With the Attic boy to hunt, 

125 But kercheft in a comely cloud. 



JOHN MILTON 123 

While rocking winds are piping loud, 

Or ushered with a shower still, 

When the gust hath blown his fill. 

Ending on the rustling leaves, 
130 With minute-drops from off the eaves. 

And, when the sun begins to fling 

His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring 

To arched walks of twilight groves. 

And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, 
135 Of pine, or monumental oak, 

Where the rude axe with heaved stroke 

Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, 

Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. 

There, in close covert, by some brook, 
140 Where no profaner eye may look. 

Hide me from day's garish eye. 
While the bee with honied thigh, 

That at her flowry work doth sing. 
And the waters murmuring, 
145 With such consort as they keep. 
Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep. 
And let some strange mysterious dream 
Wave at his wings, in airy stream 
Of lively portraiture displayed, 
150 Softly on my eyelids laid; 

And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 
Above, about, or underneath, 
Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, 
Or the unseen Genius of the wood. 
155 But let my due feet never fail 

To walk the studious cloister's pale. 
And love the high embow^d roof, 
With antique pillars massy-proof. 
And storied windows richly dight, 
160 Casting a dim religious light. 
There let the pealing organ blow 
To the full-voiced quire below. 



124 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

In service high and anthems clear, 

As may with sweetness, through mine ear, 
165 Dissolve me into esctasies. 

And bring all heaven before mine eyes. 
And may at last my weary age 

Find out the peaceful hermitage. 

The hairy gown and mossy cell, 
170 Where I may sit and rightly spell 

Of every star that heaven doth shew. 

And every herb that sips the dew. 

Till old experience do attain 

To something like prophetic strain. 
175 These pleasures, Melancholy, give; 

And I with thee will choose to live. 

SOXG. SWEET ECHO 

(From Comiis, acted 1634) 

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen 
Within thy airy shell. 
By slow Meander's margent green. 
And in the violet-embroidered vale 
5 Where the love-lorn nightingale 

Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well: 
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
That likest thy JSTarcissus are? 
O, if thou have 
10 Hid them in seme flowery cave. 

Tell me but where, 
Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the 

Sphere ! 
So may'st thou be translated to the skies. 
And give resounding grace to all heaven's har- 
monies. 



JOHN MILTON 125 

SONG. SABRINA FAIR 

(From the Same) 

Sabrina fair, 

Listen where thou art sitting 
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, 
In twisted braids of lilies knitting 
5 The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair; 
Listen for dear honour's sake, 
Goddess of the silver lake. 
Listen and save! 
Listen, and appear to us, 
10 In name of great Oceanus. 

By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace, 
And Tethys' grave majestic pace; 
By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look. 
And the Carpathian wizard's hook; 
15 By scaly Triton's winding shell. 
And old soothsaying Glaucus' spell; 
By Leucothea's lovely hands. 
And her son that rules the strands; 
By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet, 
20 And the songs of Sirens sweet; 
By dead Parthenope's dear tomb. 
And fair Ligea's golden comb. 
Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks 
Sleeking her soft alluring locks; 
25 By all the Nymphs that nightly dance 
Upon thy streams with wily glance; 
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head 
From thy coral-paven bed, 
And bridle in thy headlong wave, 
30 Till thou our summons answered have. 

Listen and save! 



126 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

LYCIDAS 

(1638) 

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, 
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, 
And with forced fingers rude 
5 Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 
Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear 
Compels me to disturb your season due; 
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 
Y'oung Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. 

10 Who would not sing for Lycidas? He knew 
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 
He must not float upon his watery bier 
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind. 
Without the meed of some melodious tear. 

15 Begin, then, Sisters of the sacred well 

That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; 
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : 
So may some gentle Muse 

20 With lucky words favour mij destined urn, 
And as he passes turn. 
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud ! 

For we were nursed upon the self -same hill. 
Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill; 

25 Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 
Under the opening eyelids of the Morn, 
We drove a-field, and both together heard 
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, 
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, 

30 Oft till the star that rose at evening bright 

Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering 

wheel. 
Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute; 



JOHN MILTON 127 

Tempered to the oaten flute, 

Eough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel 
35 From the glad sound would not be absent long ; 

And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. 

But, oh ! the heavy change, now thou art gone, 

Now thou art gone and never must return! 

Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves, 
40 With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 

And all their echoes, mourn. 

The willows, and the hazel copses green. 

Shall now no more be seen 

Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. 
45 As killing as the canker to the rose. 

Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze. 

Or frost to flowers that their gay wardrobe wear. 

When first the white-thorn blows; 

Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 
50 Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless 
deep 

Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? 

For neither were ye playing on the steep 

Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, 

Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 
55 Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. 

Ay me ! I fondly dream 

"Had ye been there," ... for what could that 
have done? 

What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, 

The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, 
60 Whom universal nature did lament, 

When, by the rout that made the hideous roar. 

His gory visage down the stream was sent, 

Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? 
Alas! what boots it with uncessant care 
65 To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade. 

And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? 

Were it not better done, as others use. 



128 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

To sport with Amaryllis in the shade. 
Or with the tangles of Nesera's hair ? 

70 Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 
(That last infirmity of noble mind) 
To scorn delights and live laborious days; 
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 
And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 

75 Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, 
And slits the thin-spun life. " But not the 

praise," 
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears : 
" Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
Nor in the glistering foil 

80 Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies. 
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes 
And perfect witness of all- judging Jove: 
As he pronounces lastly on each deed. 
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." 

85 O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood, 
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal 

reeds. 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood. 
But now my oat proceeds, 
And listens to the Herald of the Sea, 

90 That came in Neptune's plea. 

He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds. 
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle 

swain ? 
And questioned every gust of rugged wings 
That blows from off each beaked promontory. 

95 They knew not of his story; 

And sage Hippotades their answer brings. 
That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed : 
The air was calm, and on the level brine 
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. 
100 It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 

Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, 
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 



JOHN MILTON 129 

Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, 
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, 
105 Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 
Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. 
"Ah! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest 

pledge?" 
Last came, and last did go. 
The Pilot of the Galilean Lake; 
110 Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain.) 
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake: — 
"How well could I have spared for thee, young 

swain. 
Enow of such as, for their bellies' sake, 
115 Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ! 
Of other care they little reckoning make 
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast. 
And shove away the worthy bidden guest. 
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how 
to hold 
120 A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the 
least 
That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! 
What recks it them? What need they? They 

are sped; 
And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs 
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; 
125 The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 

But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they 

draw, 
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; 
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw. 
Daily devours apace, and nothing said. 
130 But that two-handed engine at the door 

Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." 

Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is past — 
That shrunk thy streams; return Sicilian Muse, 



130 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 

135 Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. 
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing 

brooks. 
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks. 
Throw hither all your quaint enanielled eyes, 

140 That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers. 
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies. 
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine. 
The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, 

145 The glowing violet, 

The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine. 
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head. 
And every flower that sad embroidery wears; 
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, 

150 And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, 

To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. 
For so, to interpose a little ease. 
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. 
Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 

155 Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled; 
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide 
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world; 
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, 

160 Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 

Where the great Vision of the guarded mount 
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold. 
Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth : 
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. 

165 Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more^ 
For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead. 
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head. 



JOHN MILTON 131 

170 And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled 
ore 
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : 
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high. 
Through the dear might of Him that walked the 

waves. 
Where, other groves and other streams along, 

175 With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, 
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 
There entertain him all the saints above. 
In solemn troops, and sweet societies, 

180 That sing, and singing in their glory move, 
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. 
NoW, Lycidas the shepherds weep no more; 
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore. 
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 

185 To all that wander in that perilous flood. 

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and 
rills. 
While the still morn went out with sandals gray : 
He touched the tender stops of various quills. 
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: 
190 And now the sun had stretched out all the hills. 
And now was dropt into the western bay. 
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue : 
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. 

SONNET 

ON HIS HAVING ARRTVED AT THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE 

(1631) 

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, 
Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! 
My hasting days fly on with full career. 
But my late spring no bud nor blossom shew'th. 



132 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth 
That I to manhood am arrived so near; 
And inward ripeness doth much less appear, 
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th. 

Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow, 
It shall be still in strictest measure even 10 

To that same lot, however mean or high. 

Towards which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven 
All is, if I have grace to use it so. 
As ever in my great Task-Master's eye. 

SONNET 

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT 
(1655) 

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones 
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; 
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old. 
When all our fathers worshiped stocks and stones. 

Forget not: in thy book record their groans 5 

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled 
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 

The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow 10 
O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway 

The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow 
A hundredfold who, having learnt thy way. 
Early may fly the Babylonian woe. 

SONNET 

ON HIS BLINDNESS 

(From Poems, etc., 1673. Written cir. 1655 ? ) 

When I consider how my light is spent 

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide. 
And that one talent which is death to hide 



JOHN MILTON 133 

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more 
bent 
5 To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest He returning chide; 
" Doth God exact day-labour, light denied ? " 
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent 
That murmur, soon replies, " God doth not need 
10 Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best 
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His 
state 
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed. 
And post o'er land and ocean without rest; 
They also serve who only stand and wait." 

SONNET 

TO CYRIACK SKINNER 

(First printed in Phillips' Life of Milton, 1694. Written dr. 
1655) 

Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, though 
clear. 
To outward view, of blemish or of spot. 
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; 
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear 
5 Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, 
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not 
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot 
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer 
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou 
ask? 
10 The conscience, friend, to have lost them over- 
plied 
In Liberty's defence, my noble task, 
Of which all Europe rings from side to side. 
This thought might lead me through the world's 

vain mask. 
Content, though blind, had I no better guide. 



Hn^rew /iDarvell 

1621-1678 

THE GARDEN 

(Written dr. 1650, published first in first collected edition 
of Marvell's Poems, 1681) 

How vainly men themselves amaze, 
To win the palm, the oak, or bays, 
And their incessant labours see 
Crowned from some single herb, or tree, 
5 Whose short and narrow-verged shade 
Does prudently their toils upbraid, 
While all the flowers and trees do close. 
To weave the garlands of repose ! 

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, 
10 And Innocence, thy sister dear? 

Mistaken long, I sought you then 

In busy companies of men. 

Your sacred plants, if here below. 

Only among the plants will grow; 
15 Society is all but rude 

To this delicious solitude. 

No white nor red was ever seen 
So amorous as this lovely green. 
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, 
20 Cut in these trees their mistress' name. 
Little, alas! they know or heed, 
How far these beauties her exceed! 
Fair trees ! where'er your barks I wound. 
No name shall but your own be found. 

134 



ANDREW MARVELL 135 

25 When we have run our passion's heat, 
Love hither makes his best retreat. 
The gods, who mortal beauty chase, 
Still in a tree did end their race; 
Apollo hunted Daphne so, 

30 Only that she might laurel grow ; 
And Pan did after Syrinx speed, 
Not as a nymph, but for a reed. 

What wondrous life is this I lead ! 

Kipe apples drop about my head; 
35 The luscious clusters of a vine 

Upon my mouth do crush their wine; 

The nectarine, and curious peach. 

Into my hands themselves do reach; 

Stumbling on melons, as I pass, 
40 Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 

Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less, 
Withdraws into its happiness;— 
The mind, that ocean where each kind 
Does straight its own resemblance find; 
45 Yet it creates, transcending these. 
Far other worlds, and other seas. 
Annihilating all that's made 
To a green thought in a green shade. 

Here at the fountain's sliding foot, 
50 Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root. 
Casting the body's vest aside. 
My soul into the boughs does glide: 
There, like a bird, it sits and sings. 
Then whets and claps its silver wings, 
55 And, till prepared for longer flight. 
Waves in its plume the various light. 



136 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

Such was that happy garden-state, 
While man there walked without a mate: 
After a place so pure and sweet, 
60 What other help could yet be meet! 
But 'twas beyond a mortal's share 
To wander solitary there : 
Two paradises are in one. 
To live in paradise alone. 

65 How well the skilful gardener drew 
Of flowers, and herbs, this dial new. 
Where, from above, the milder sun 
Does through a fragrant zodiac run. 
And, as it works, the industrious bee 

70 Computes its time as well as we! 

How could such sweet and wholesome hours 
Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers? 



PART THIRD 

DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

GiT. 1660— (7^>. 1730 

5obn H)rl?^en 

1631-1700 

MAC-FLECKNOE ; OR. A SATIRE ON THE TRUE 
BLUE PROTESTANT POET. T. S. 

(1682) 

All human things are subject to decay, 
And, when fate summons, monarchs must obey. 
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young 
Was called to empire, and had governed long; 
5 In prose and verse was owned, without dispute, 
Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute. 
This aged prince, now flourishing in peace. 
And blest with issue of a large increase. 
Worn out with business, did at length debate 

10 To settle the succession of the state; 

And, pondering which of all his sons was fit 
To reign, and wage immortal war with wit, 
Cried, " 'Tis resolved ! for Nature pleads, that he 
Should only rule, who most resembles me. 

15 Shadwell alone my perfect image bears. 
Mature in dulness from his tender years ; 
Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he, 

137 



138 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

Who stands confirmed in full stupidity. 

The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, 

20 But Shadwell never deviates into sense; 
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall. 
Strike through, and make a lucid interval; 
But ShadwelFs genuine night admits no ray. 
His rising fogs prevail upon the day. 

25 Besides, his goodly fabric fills the eye. 

And seems designed for thoughtless majesty; 
Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the 

plain. 
And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign. 
Heywood and Shirley were but types of thee, 

30 Thou last great prophet of tautology] ' 
Even I, a dunce of more renown than they. 
Was sent before but to prepare thy way; 
And, coarsely clad in Norwich drugget, came 
To teach the nations in thy greater name. 

35 My warbling lute, — the lute I whilom strung, 
When to King John of Portugal I sung, — 
Was but the prelude to that glorious day, 
When thou on silver Thames didst cut thy way, 
With well-timed oars, before the royal barge, 

40 Swelled with the pride of thy celestial charge; 
And big with hymn, commander of an host, — 
The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets tost. 
Methinks I see the new Arion sail. 
The lute still trembling underneath thy nail. 

45 At thy well-sharpened thumb, from shore to 
shore. 
The trebles squeak for fear, the basses roar; 



About thy boat the little fishes throng, 
50 As at the morning toast that floats along. 

Sometimes, as prince of thy harmonious band. 
Thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing hand ; 



JOHN DRYDEN 139 

St. Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time, 
Not even the feet of thy own Psyche's rhyme: 

55 Though they in number as in sense excel; 
So just, so like tautology, they fell. 
That, pale with envy, Singleton forswore 
The lute and sword, which he in triumph bore, 
And vowed he ne'er would act Villerius more.'' 

60 Here stopt the good old sire and wept for joy, 
In silent raptures of the hopeful boy. 
All arguments, but most his plays, persuade. 
That for anointed dulness he was made. 
Close to the walls which fair Augusta bind, 

65 (The fair Augusta much to fears inclined). 
An ancient fabric raised to inform the sight. 
There stood of yore, and Barbican it hight; 
A watch-tower once, but now, so fate ordains. 
Of all the pile an empty name remains; 



Near it a Nursery erects its head, 

Where queens are formed and future heroes bred, 

Where unfledged actors learn to laugh and cry, 

And little Maximins the gods defy. 

Great Fletcher never treads in buskins here, 

80 Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear; 
But gentle Simkin just reception finds 
Amidst this monument of vanished minds; 
Pure clinches the suburban muse affords. 
And Panton waging harmless war with words. 

85 Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well known. 
Ambitiously designed his Shadwell's throne. 
For ancient Decker prophesied long since, 
That in this pile should reign a mighty prince, 
Born for a scourge of wit, and flail of sense ; 

90 To whom true dulness should some Psyches owe, 



140 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

But worlds of Misers from his pen should flow; 
Humorists and Hypocrites, it should produce, — 
Whole Raymond families, and tribes of Bruce. 
Now empress Fame had published the renown 
95 Of Shadwell's coronation through the town. 
Roused by report of fame, the nations meet, 
From near Bunhill, and distant Watling Street. 
No Persian carpets spread the imperial way, 
But scattered limbs of mangled poets lay. 



Much Heywood, Shirley, Ogleby there lay. 
But loads of Shadwell almost choked the way; 
Bilked stationers for yeomen stood prepared, 

105 And Herringman was captain of the guard. 
The hoary prince in majesty appeared. 
High on a throne of his own labours reared. 
At his right hand our young Ascanius sate, 
Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state, 

110 His brows thick fogs, instead of glories, grace. 
And lambent dulness played around his face. 
As Hannibal did to the altars come. 
Sworn by his sire, a mortal foe to Rome, 
So Shadwell swore, nor should his vow be vain, 

115 That he till death true dulness would maintain; 
And, in his father's right, and realm's defence. 
Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with 

sense. 
The king himself the sacred unction made, 
As king by office, and as priest by trade. 

120 In his sinister hand, instead of ball, 

He placed a mighty mug of potent ale; 
" Love's kingdom " to his right he did convey. 
At once his sceptre, and his rule of sway; 
Whose righteous lore the prince had practised 
young, 

125 And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprung. 



JOHN DRYDEN 141 

His temples, last, with poppies were o'erspread. 
That nodding seemed to consecrate his head. 
Just at the point of time, if fame not lie. 
On his left hand twelve reverend owls did fly; 

130 So Romulus, 'tis sung, by Tiber's brook. 

Presage of sway from twice six vultures took. 
The admiring throng loud acclamations make, 
And omens of his future empire take. 
The sire then shook the honours of his head, 

135 And from his brows damps of oblivion shed 
Full on the filial dulness : long he stood, 
Repelling from his breast the raging god; 
At length burst out in this prophetic mood : — 
"Heavens bless my son! from Ireland let him 
reign, 

140 To far Barbadoes on the western main; 
Of his dominion may no end be known. 
And greater than his father's be his throne; 
Beyond love's kingdom let him stretch his pen!" 
He paused, and all the people cried, " Amen." 

145 Then thus continued he : " My son, advance 
Still in new impudence, new ignorance. 
Success let others teach, learn thou from me 
Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. 
Let Virtuosos in five years be writ, 

150 Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit. 
Let gentle George in triumph tread the stage. 
Make Dorimant detray, and Loveit rage; 
Let Cully, Cockwood, Fopling, charm the pit, 
And in their folly show the writer's wit; 

155 Yet still thy fools shall stand in thy defence, 
And justify their author's want of sense. 
Let them be all by thy own model made 
Of dulness, and desire no foreign aid. 
That they to future ages may be known, 

160 Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own: 
Nay, let thy men of wit too be the same, 



142 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

All full of thee, and differing but in name, 

But let no alien Sedley interpose, 

To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose. 
165 And when false flowers of rhetoric thou wouldst 
cull, 

Trust nature ; do not labour to be dull. 

But write thy best, and top; and, in each line, 

Sir Formal's oratory will be thine: 

Sir Formal, though unsought, attends thy quill, 
170 And does thy northern dedications fill. 

ISTor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame, 

By arrogating Jonson's hostile name; 

Let father Flecknoe fire thy mind with praise, 

And uncle Ogleby thy envy raise. 
175 Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part : 

What share have we in nature, or in art? 

Where did his wit on learning fix a brand. 

And rail at arts he did not understand? 

Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein, 
180 Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain? 



When did his muse from Fletcher scenes purloin, 
As thou whole Etherege dost transfuse to thine ? 

185 But so transfused, as oil and waters flow. 
His always floats above, thine sinks below. 
This is thy province, this thy wondrous way, 
New humours to invent for each new play: 
This is that boasted bias of thy mind, 

190 By which one way to dulness 'tis inclined; 

Which makes thy writings lean on one side still, 
And, in all changes, that way bends thy will. 
Nor let thy mountain belly make pretence 
Of likeness ; thine's a tympany of sense. 

195 A tun of man in thy large bulk is writ. 
But sure thou art but a kilderkin of wit. 
Like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep; 



JOHN DRYDEN 143 

Thy tragic muse gives smiles, thy comic sleep. 

With whate'er gall thou setst itself to write, 
200 Thy inoffensive satires never bite; 

In thy felonious heart though venom lies, 

It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies. 

Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame 

In keen iambics, but mild anagram. 
205 Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command, 

Some peaceful province in Acrostic land. 

There thou may'st wings display, and altars raise, 

And torture one poor word ten thousand ways; 

Or, if thou wouldst thy different talents suit, 
210 Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute." 

He said: but his last words were scarcely 
heard ; 

For Bruce and Longvil had a trap prepared. 

And down they sent the yet declaiming bard. 

Sinking he left his drugget robe behind, 
215 Borne upwards by a subterranean wind. 

The mantle fell to the young prophet's part ; 

With double portion of his father's art. 

ACHITOPHEL 

(From Absalom and Achitophel, 1681) 

150 Of these the false Achitophel was first; 

A name to all succeeding ages curst: 

For close designs, and crooked counsels fit; 

Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit; 

Kestless, unfixed in principles and place; 
155 In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace; 

A fiery soul, which, working out its way, 

Fretted the pigmy-body to decay. 

And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. 

A daring pilot in extremity, 
160 Pleased with the danger, when the waves went 
high. 



144 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

He sought the storms ; but for a calm unfit, 

Would steer too nigh the sands, to boast his wit. 

Great wits are sure to madness near allied, 

And thin partitions do their bounds divide; 
165 Else, why should he, with wealth and honour 
blest, 

Refuse his age the needful hours of rest ? 

Punish a body which he could not please; 

Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease? 

And all to leave what with his toil he won, 
170 To that unfeathered two-legged thing, a son; 

Got, while his soul did huddled notions try; 

And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy. 

In friendship false, implacable in hate; 

Resolved to ruin, or to rule the state. 
175 To compass this the triple bond he broke; 

The pillars of the public safety shook; 

And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke; 

Then, seized with fear, yet still affecting fame. 

Usurped a patriot's all-atoning name. 
180 So easy still it proves in factious times. 

With public zeal to cancel private crimes. 

How safe is treason, and how sacred ill. 

Where none can sin against the people's will, 

Where crowds can wink, and no offence be k^own, 
185 Since in another's guilt they find their own? 

Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge ; 

The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge. 

In Israel's courts ne'er sat an Abbethdin 

With more discerning eyes, or hands more clean, 
190 Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress; 

Swift of despatch, and easy of access. 

Oh ! had he been content to serve the crown. 

With virtue only proper to the gown; 

Or had the rankness of the soil been freed 
195 From cockle, that oppressed the noble seed; 

David for him his tuneful harp had strung, 



JOHN DRYDEN 145 

And heaven had wanted one immortal song. 
But wild ambition loves to slide, not stand. 
And fortune's ice prefers to virtue's land. 
Achitophel, grown weary to possess 200 

A lawful fame, and lazy happiness, 
Disdained the golden fruit to gather free. 
And lent the crowd his arm to shake the tree. 



A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 23nd NOVEMBER, 

1687 

I. 

From harmony, from heavenly harmony. 
This universal frame began : 
When nature underneath a heap 

Of jarring atoms lay. 
And could not heave her head, 6 

The tuneful voice was heard from high, 

" Arise, ye more than dead." 
Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, 
In order to their stations leap. 

And Music's power obey. 10 

From harmony, from heavenly harmony, 
This universal frame began; 
From harmony to harmony 
Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 

The diapason closing full in man. 15 

II. 

What passion cannot music raise and quell? 
When Jubal struck the chorded shell, 

His listening brethren stood around. 
And, wondering, on their faces fell 

To worship that celestial sound : 20 



146 DKYDEN TO THOMSON 

Less than a God they thought there could not dwell 

Within the hollow of that shell, 

That spoke so sweetly, and so well. 
What passion cannot music raise and quell? 

III. 

The trumpet's loud clangour 25 

Excites us to arms. 
With shrill notes of anger 
And mortal alarms. 
The double, double, double beat 

Of the thundering drum, 30 

Cries, hark! the foes come: 
Charge, charge! 'tis too late to retreat. 

IV. 

The soft complaining flute, 
In dying notes, discovers 
The woes of hopeless lovers; 35 

Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute. 

V. 

Sharp violins proclaim 
Their jealous pangs and desperation, 
Fury, frantic indignation. 
Depth of pains, and height of passion, 40 

For the fair, disdainful dame. 

VI. 

But, oh! what art can teach. 

What human voice can reach, 
The sacred organ's praise? 

Notes inspiring holy love, 45 

Notes that wend their heavenly ways 

To mend the choirs above, 



JOHN DRYDEN 147 



VII. 



Orpheus could lead the savage race; 
And trees unrooted left their place, 

Sequacious of the lyre: 50 

But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher; 

When to her organ vocal breath was given. 
An angel heard, and straight appeared, 
Mistaking earth for heaven. 

GRAND CHORUS 

As from the power of sacred lays 55 

The spheres begin to move, 
And sung the great Creator's praise 

To all the blessed above ; 
So when the last and dreadful hour 
This crumbling pageant shall devour, 60 

The trumpet shall be heard en high. 
The dead shall live, the living die. 
And Music shall untune the sky. 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST, OR THE POWER OF MUSIC; 
AN ODE IN HONOUR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1697 



'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son: 
Aloft, in awful state, 
The godlike hero sate 
On his imperial throne. 6 

His valiant peers were placed around; 
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound: 
(So should desert in arms be crowned.) 
The lovely Thais, by his side, 
Sate like a blooming eastern bride, 10 

In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 



148 DRYPEN TO THOMSON 

Happy, happy, happy pair ! 

None but the brave, 

None but the brave, 

None but the brave deserves the fair. 15 

CHORUS 

Happy, happy, happy pair! 

None hut the brave, 

None but the brave, 

None but the brave deserves the fair. 



II. 

Timotheus, placed on high 20 

Amid the tuneful quire, 
With flying fingers touched the lyre: 
The trembling notes ascend the sky, 
And heavenly joys inspire. 
The song began from Jove, ■ 25 

Who left his blissful seats above, 
(Such is the power of mighty love.) 
A dragon's fiery form belied the god; 
Sublime on radiant spires he rode; 

When he to fair Olympia pressed, 30 

And while he sought her snowy breast; 
Then, round her slender waist he curled. 
And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the 

world. 
The listening crowd admire the lofty sound, 
A present deity! they shout around; 35 

A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound. 
With ravished ears. 
The monarch hears; 
Assumes the god, 

Affects to nod, 40 

And seems to shake the spheres. 



JOHN DKYDEN 149 

CHOKUS 

With ravished ears. 
The monarch hears ; 
Assiunes the god, 

Affects to nod, 45 

And seems to shake the spheres. 

III. 

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung; 
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young. 
The jolly god in triumph comes ; 
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums; 50 

Flushed with a purple grace 
He shows his honest face: 
Kow, give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes. 
Bacchus, ever fair and young, 

Drinking joys did iirst ordain; 65 

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure; 
Rich the treasure. 
Sweet the pleasure. 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 60 

CHORUS 

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure; 

Rich the treasure. 

Sweet the pleasure. 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 65 



IV. 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain: 
Fought all his battles o'er again; 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the 
slain. 



150 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

The master saw the madness rise. 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; 70 

And, while he heaven and earth defied, 
Changed his hand, and checked his pride. 
He chose a mournful muse. 
Soft pity to infuse. 
He sung Darius great and good, 75 

By too severe a fate. 
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 
Fallen from his high estate, 

And weltering in his blood: 
Deserted, at his utmost need, 80 

By those his former bounty fed; 
On the bare earth exposed he lies. 
With not a friend to close his eyes. 
With downcast looks the joyless victor sate. 

Revolving, in his altered soul, 85 

The various turns of chance below; 
And, now and then, a sigh he stole. 

And tears began to How. 

CHORUS 

Revolving, in his altered soul, 

The various turns of chance below; 90 

And, now and then, a sigh he stole; 

And tears began to flow. 



V. 

The mighty master smiled, to see 

That love was in the next degree; 

'Twas but a kindred-sound to move, 95 

For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures. 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures: 

War, he sung, is toil and trouble; 

Honour, but an empty bubble; 100 



JOHN DEYDEN 151 

Never ending, still beginning. 
Fighting still, and still destroying: 

If the world be worth thy winning, 
Think, O think it worth enjoying; 
Lovely Thais sits beside thee, 105 

Take the good the gods provide thee — 
The many rend the skies with loud applause; 
So Love was crowned, but Music won the cause. 
The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 

Gazed on the fair, 110 

Who caused his care. 
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, 
Sighed and looked, and sighed again; 
At length, with love and wine at once oppressed. 
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 115 

CHORUS 

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care. 
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked. 

Sighed and looked, and sighed again ; 120 

At length, with love and imne at once oppressed, 
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 



VI. 

Now strike the golden lyre again; 
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. 
Break his bands of sleep asunder, 125 

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 
Hark, hark! the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head; 
As awaked from the dead, 
And amazed, he stares around. 130 

Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries. 
See the furies arise; 



152 DBYDEN TO THOMSON 

See the snakes, that they rear, 
How they .hiss in their hair. 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! 135 

Behold a ghastly band, 
Each a torch in his hand! 
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
And, unburied, remain 

Inglorious on the plain: 140 

Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew. 
Behold how they toss their torches on high. 

How they point to the Persian abodes. 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods. — 145 
The princes applaud, with a furious joy. 
And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; 
Thais led the way, 
To light him to his prey. 
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. 150 

CHORUS 

And the King seized a flambeau imth zeal to destroy ; 

Thais led the way. 

To light him to his prey. 
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. 

VII. 

Thus, long ago, 155 

Ere heaving bellows learned to blow. 

While organs yet were mute, 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute. 
And sounding lyre. 
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 160 
At last divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame; 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds. 
And added length to solemn sounds, 165 



JOHN DBYDEN 153 

With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 
Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown; 
He raised a mortal to the skies, 

She drew an angel down. 170 

GRAND CHORUS 

At last divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame : 
The sweet efithusiast, from her sacred store, 
Enlarged the former nai-row hounds. 
And added length to solemn sounds, 175 

With 7iature's mother-wit, and ai^ts unknown before, 
Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown ; 
He raised a mortal to the skies. 
She drew an angel down. 180 



UNDER MR. MILTON'S PICTURE 

Three poets, in three distant ages born, 
Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn. 
The first, in loftiness of thought surpassed; 
The next, in majesty; in both the last. 
The force of Nature could no further go; 
To make a third, she joined the former two. 



154 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

/IDattbew prior 

1664-1721 

TO A CHILD OF QUALITY FIVE YEARS OLD. 
MDCCIV 

THE AUTHOR THEN FOUTY 

(From Poems on Several Occasions, 1709) 

Lords, knights, and 'squires the numerous band. 
That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters. 

Were summoned by her high command. 
To show their passions by their letters. 

5 My pen among the rest I took, 

Lest those bright eyes that cannot read 
Should dart their kindling fires, and look 
The power they have to be obeyed. 

Nor quality, nor reputation, 
10 Forbid me yet my flame to tell. 

Dear five years old befriends my passion. 
And I may write till she can spell. 

For, while she makes her silk-worm's beds. 
With all the tender things I swear; 
15 Whilst all the house my passion reads, 
In papers round her baby's hair; 

She may receive and own my flame. 

For though the strictest prudes should know it. 
She'll pass for a most virtuous dame, 
20 And I for an unhappy poet. 

Then, too, alas ! when she shall tear 

The lines some younger rival sends ; 
She'll give me leave to write, I fear, 
And we shall still continue friends. 



MATTHEW PRIOE 155 

25 For, as our different ages move, 

'Tis so ordained, (would Fate but mend it!) 
That I shall be past making love. 
When she begins to comprehend it. 



A BETTER ANSWER 

Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face ! 

Thy cheek all on fire, end thy hair all uncurled : 
Pr'ythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff 
says). 

Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world. 



5 How cans't thou presume, thou hast leave to de- 
stroy 
The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy 
keeping ? 
Those looks were designed to inspire love and joy : 
More ordinary eyes may serve people for weep- 
ing. 

To be vexed at a trifle or two that I writ, 
10 Your judgment at once, and my passion you 
wrong : 
You take that for fact, which will scarce be found 
wit: 
Od's life! must one swear to the truth of a 
song ? 

What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, 

shows 

The difference there is betwixt nature and art : 

15 I court others in verse; but I love thee in prose: 

And they have my whimsies; but thou hast my 

heart. 



156 DKYDEN TO THOMSON 

The god of us verse-men (you know, Child) the 
sun, 
How after his journeys he sets up his rest; 
If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run; 
20 At night he reclines on his Thetis's breast. 

So when I am wearied with wandering all day; 

To thee, my delight, in the evening I come : 
No matter what beauties I saw in my way : 

They were but my visits, but thou art my home. 

25 Then finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war; 
And let us like Horace and Lydia agree : 
For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, 
As he was a poet sublimer than me. 

5osepb H^Mson 

1672-1719 
ODE 

THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT 

(1712) 

I. 

The spacious firmament on high, 
With all the blue ethereal sky. 
And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 
Their great Original proclaim: 
5 Th' unwearied sun, from day to day. 
Does his Creator's power display, 
And publishes to every land 
The work of an Almighty hand. 

II. 

Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
10 The moon takes up the wondrous tale. 



JOHN GAY 157 

And, nightly, to the listening earth, 
Repeats the story of her birth: 
While all the stars that round her burn. 
And all the planets in their turn, 
15 Confirm the tidings as they roll, 

And spread the truth from pole to pole. 



III. 

What though, in solemn silence, all 
Move round the dark terrestrial ball? 
What though nor real voice nor sound 
20 Amid their radiant orbs be found? 
In reason's ear they all rejoice. 
And utter forth a glorious voice. 
For ever singing as they shine, 
" The hand that made us is divine." 



3obn (3a^ 

1688-1732 
FABLE XVIII 

THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND EVERYBODY 

(From Fables, 1727) 

Lest men suspect your tale untrue. 
Keep probability in view. 
The traveller leaping o'er those bounds, 
The credit of his book confounds. 
5 Who with his tongue hath armies routed. 
Makes ev'n his real courage doubted. 
But flattery never seems absurd; 
The flatter'd always take your word: 
Impossibilities seem just : 
10 They take the strongest praise on trust. 



158 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

Hyperboles, though ne'er so great. 
Will still come short of self-conceit. 

So very like a Painter drew, 
That every eye the picture knew; 

15 He hit complexion, feature, air, 
So just, the life itself was there. 
No flattery with his colours laid. 
To bloom restorM the faded maid; 
He gave each muscle all its strength; 

20 The mouth, the chin, the nose's length; 
His honest pencil touch'd with truth, 
And mark'd the date of age and youth. 
He lost his friends, his practice f ail'd ; 
Truth should not always be reveal'd; 

25 In dusty piles his pictures lay. 
For no one sent the second pay. 
Two bustos, fraught with every grace, 
A Venus' and Apollo's face, 
He plac'd in view; resolv'd to please, 

30 Who ever sat he drew from these, 
From these corrected every feature, 
And spirited each awkward creature. 

All things were set; the hour was come, 
His palette ready o'er his thumb; 

35 My Lord appear'd; and, seated right. 
In proper attitude and light. 
The Painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece. 
Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece, 
Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air; 

40 * Those eyes, my Lord, the spirit there. 
Might well a Raphael's hand require. 
To give them all the native fire; 
The features, fraught with sense and wit, 
You'll grant are very hard to hit; 

45 But yet with patience you shall view. 
As much as paint and art can do.' 
Observe the work. My Lord replied, 



JOHN GAY 159 

* Till now I thought my mouth was wide ; 

Besides, my nose is somewhat long; 
50 Dear sir, for me, 'tis far too young ! ' 
' Oh ! pardon me, (the artist cried) 

In this we Painters must decide. 

The piece ev'n common eyes must strike, 

I warrant it extremely like.' 
55 My Lord examined it a-new; 

'No looking-glass seem'd half so true. 
A lady came, with borrow'd grace, 

He from his Venus form'd her face. 

Her lover prais'd the Painter's art; 
60 So like the picture in his heart! 

To every age some charm he lent; 

Ev'n beauties were almost content. 

Through all the town his art they prais'd; 

His custom grew, his price was rais'd. 
65 Had he the real likeness shown, 

Would any man the picture own? 

But when thus happily he wrought, 

Each found the likeness in his thought. 

ON A LAP DOG 

Shock's fate I mourn; poor Shock is now no 

more! 
Ye Muses! mourn, ye Chambermaids! deplore. 
Unhappy Shock! Yet more unhappy fair, 
Doom'd to survive thy joy and only care. 
5 Thy wretched fingers now no more shall deck. 
And tie the favorite ribband round his neck; 
No more thy hand shall smooth his glossy hair. 
And comb the wavings of his pendent ear. 
Let cease thy flowing grief, forsaken maid! 
10 All mortal pleasures in a moment fade: 
Our surest hope is in an hour destroy'd. 
And love, best gift of Heaven, not long enjoy'd. 



160 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

Methinks I see her frantic with despair, 
Her streaming eyes, wrung hands, and flowing 
hair; 

15 Her Mechlin pinners, rent, the floor bestrow. 
And her torn face gives real signs of woe. 
Hence, Superstition! that tormenting guest. 
That haunts with fancied fears the coward breast ; 
'No dread events upon this fate attend, 

20 Stream eyes no more, no more thy tresses rend. 
Though certain omens oft forwarn a state, 
And dying lions show the monarch's fate. 
Why should such fears bid Celia's sorrow rise? 
For when a lap dog falls, no lover dies. 

25 Cease, Celia, cease; restrain thy flowing tears^ 
Some warmer passion will dispel thy cares. 
In man you'll find a more substantial bliss. 
More grateful toying and a sweeter kiss. 

He's dead. Oh ! lay him gently in the ground ! 

30 And may his tomb be by this verse renown'd. 
Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid. 
Who f awn'd like man, but ne'er like man betray'd 



HIejanber pope 

1688-1744 
THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 

(Enlarged version published 1714) 

CANTO I. 

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs. 
What mighty contests rise from trivial things, 
I sing — This verse to Caryll, Muse ! is due ; 
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view; 
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, 
If she inspire, and he approve my lays. 



ALEXANDER POPE 161 

Say what strange motive, goddess! could com- 
pel 
A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle? 
O say what stranger cause, yet unexplored, 
10 Could make a gentle belle reject a lord? 
In tasks so bold, can little men engage. 
And in soft bosoms, dwells such mighty rage? 

Sol through white curtains shot a tim'rous ray, 
And op'd those eyes that must eclipse the day; 
15 Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake, 
And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake: 
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the 

ground. 
And the pressed watch returned a silver sound. 
Belinda still her downy pillow pressed, 
20 Her guardian sylph prolonged the balmy rest : 
'Twas he had summoned to her silent bed 
The morning dream that hovered o'er her head, 
A youth more glitt'ring than a birth-night beau, 
(That ev'n in slumber caused her cheek to glow) 
25 Seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay. 
And thus in whispers said, or seemed to say. 

" Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished care 
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air ! 
If e'er one vision touched thy infant thought, 
30 Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught ; 
Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen. 
The silver token, and the circled green. 
Or virgins visited by angel-pow'rs. 
With golden crowns and wreaths of heav'nly 
flow'rs ; 
35 Hear and believe! thy own importance know, 
Nor bound thy narrow views to things below. 
Some secret truths, from learned pride concealed. 
To maids alone and children are revealed. 
What though no credit doubting wits may give ? 
40 The fair and innocent shall still believe. 



162 DBYDEN TO THOMSON 

Know then, unnumbered spirits round thee fly, 
The light militia of the lower sky: 
These, though unseen, are ever on the wing, 
Plang o'er the box, and hover round the ring. 

45 Think what an equipage thou hast in air. 
And view with scorn two pages and a chair. 
As now your own, our beings were of old, 
And once inclosed in woman's beauteous mould; 
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair 

50 From earthly vehicles to these of air. 

Think not, when woman's transient breath is 

fled, 
That all her vanities at once are dead; 
Succeeding vanities she still regards, 
And though she plaj's no more, o'erlooks the 
cards. 

55 Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive, 
And love of ombre, after death survive. 
For when the fair in all their pride expire, 
To their first elements, their souls retire: 
The sprites of fiery termagants in flame 

60 Mount up, and take a salamander's name. 
Soft yielding minds to water glide away. 
And sip, with nymphs, their elemental tea. 
The graver prude sinks downward to a gnome. 
In search of mischief still on earth to roam. 

65 The light coquettes in sylphs aloft repair, 
And sport and flutter in the fields of air. 

" Know further yet ; whoever fair and chaste 
Rejects mankind, is by some sylph embraced: 
For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease 

70 Assume what sexes and what shapes they please. 
What guards the purity of melting maids. 
In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades, 
Safe from the treach'rous friend, the daring 

spark, 
The glance by day, the whisper in the dark. 



ALEXANDER POPE 163 

75 When kind occasion prompts their warm de- 
sires, 
When music softens, and when dancing fires? 
'Tis but their sylph, the wise celestials know. 
Though honour is the word with men below. 
Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their 
face, 
80 For life predestined to the gnomes' embrace. 

These swell their prospects and exalt their pride, 
When offers are disdained, and love denyed: 
Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain. 
While peers, and dukes, and all their sweeping 
train, 
85 And garters, stars, and coronets appear, 

And in soft sounds, ' Your Grace' salutes their 

ear. 
'Tis these that early taint the female soul. 
Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll. 
Teach infant-cheeks a bidden blush to know, 
90 And little hearts to flutter at a beau. 

" Oft', when the world imagine women stray. 
The sylphs through mystic mazes guide their 

way; 
Through all the giddy circle they pursue. 
And old impertinence expel by new. 
95 What tender maid but must a victim fall 
To one man's treat, but for another's ball ? 
, When Florio speaks what virgin could withstand, 
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand? 
With varying vanities, from ev'ry part, 
100 They shift the moving toyshop of their heart; 
Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword- 
knots strive, 
Beaus banish beaus, and coaches coaches drive. 
This erring mortals levity may call; 
Oh blind to truth! the sylphs contrive it all. 
105 " Of these am I, who thy protection claim. 



164 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. 
Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air. 
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star 
I saw, alas! some dread event impend, 
110 Ere to the main this morning sun descend. 
But heaven reveals not what, or how, or where : 
Warned by the sylph, oh pious maid, beware ! 
This to disclose is all thy guardian can: 
Beware of all, but most beware of man ! " 
115 He said; when Shock, who thought she slept 

too long. 
Leaped up, and waked his mistress with his 

tongue ; 
'Twas then, Belinda, if report say true, 
Thy eyes first opened on a billet-doux; 
Wounds, charms, and ardours, were no sooner 

read, 
120 But all the vision vanished from thy head. 

And now, unveiled, the toilet stands displayed, 
Each silver vase in mystic order laid. 
First, rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores. 
With head uncover'd, the cosmetic pow'rs. 
125 A heav'nly image in the glass appears. 

To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears; 
Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side, 
Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride. 
Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here 
130 The various off 'rings of the world appear; 

From each she nicely culls with curious toil," 
And decks the goddess with the glitt'ring spoil. 
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, 
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box, 
135 The tortoise here and elephant unite, 

Transformed to combs, the speckled and the 

white. 
Here files of pins extend their shining rows, 
Puffs, powders, patches. Bibles, billets-doux. 



ALEXANDEB POPE 165 

Now awful beauty puts on all its arms; 

140 The fair each moment rises in her charms. 
Repairs her smiles, awakens ev'ry grace, 
And calls forth all the wonders of her face; 
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise. 
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. 

145 The busy sylphs surround their darling care. 
These set the head, and those divide the hair. 
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown; 
And Betty's praised for labors not her own. 



CANTO II. 

Not with more glories, in th' ethereal plain. 
The sun first rises o'er the purpled main, 
Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams 
Launched on the bosom of the silver Thames. 
5 Fair nymphs, and well-dressed youths around 
her shone, 
But ev'ry eye was fixed on her alone. 
On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, 
Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore. 
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose, 

10 Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those. 
Favours to none, to all she smiles extends; 
Oft she rejects, but never once offends. 
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, 
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. 

15 Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, 
Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide ; 
If to her share some female errors fall. 
Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all. 
This nymph, to the destruction of mankind, 

20 Nourished two locks, which graceful hung behind 
In equal curls, and well conspired to deck. 
With shining ringlets, the smooth iv'ry neck. 



166 DKYDEN TO THOMSON 

Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, 
And mighty hearts are held in slender chains. 

25 With hairy springes we the birds betray, 

Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey, 
Fair tresses man's imperial race insnare. 
And beauty draws us with a single hair. 

Th' advent'rous baron the bright locks ad- 
mired ; 

30 He saw, he wished, and to the prize aspired. 
Resolv'd to win, he meditates the way, 
By force to ravish, or by fraud betray; 
For when success a lover's toil attends. 
Few ask, if fraud or force attained his ends. 

35 For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had implored 
Propitious heav'n, and ev'ry pow'r adored, 
But chiefly Love — to Love an altar built. 
Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. 
There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves, 

40 And all the trophies of his former loves; 
With tender billets-doux he lights the pyre. 
And breathes three am'rous sighs to raise the fire. 
Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes 
Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize: 

45 The pow'rs gave ear, and granted half his pray'r, 
The rest, the winds dispersed in empty air. 

But now secure the painted vessel glides. 
The sun-beams trembling on the floating tides : 
While melting music steals upon the sky, 

50 And softened sounds along the waters die ; 

Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play, 
Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay. 
All but the sylph — with careful thoughts op- 
pressed, 
Th' impending woe sat heavy on his breast. 

55 He summons strait his denizens of air; 

The lucid squadrons round the sails repair: 
Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, 



ALEXANDER POPE 16V 

That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath. 
Some to the sun their insect-wings unfold, 
60 Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold; 
Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight, 
Their fluid bodies half dissolv'd in light. 
Loose to the wind their airy garments flew. 
Thin glitt'ring textures of the filmy dew, 

65 Dipped in the richest tincture of the skies, 
Where light disports' in ever-mingling dyes ; 
While ev'ry beam new transient colours flings. 
Colours that change whene'er they wave their 

wings. 
Amid the circle, on the gilded mast, 

70 Superior by the head, was Ariel plac'd; 
His purple pinions opening to the sun. 
He raised his azure wand, and thus begun: 

" Ye sylphs and sylphids, to your chief give ear ! 
Fays, fairies, genii, elves, and demons, hear! 

75 Ye know the spheres and various tasks assigned 
By laws eternal to th' aerial kind. 
Some in the fields of purest ether play. 
And bask and whiten in the blaze of day. 
Some guide the course of wandering orbs on high, 

80 Or roll the planets through the boundless sky; 
Some less refined, beneath the moon's pale light 
Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night, 
Or suck the mists in grosser air below. 
Or dip their pinions in the painted bow, 

85 Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main. 
Or o'er the glebe distil the kindly rain. 
Others on earth o'er human race preside. 
Watch all their ways, and all their actions guide : 
Of these the chief the care of nations own, 

90 And guard with arms divine the British throne. 
" Our humbler province is to tend the fair, 
Not a less pleasing, though less glorious care; 
To save the powder from too rude a gale, 



168 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

Nor let th' imprisoned essences exhale; 
95 To draw fresh colours from the vernal flow'rs, 
To steal from rainbows ere they drop in show'rs 
A brighter wash to curl their waving hairs, 
Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs; 
Nay, oft, in dreams, invention we bestow, 
100 To change a flounce, or add a furbelow. 

" This day, black omens threat the brightest 
fair 
That e'er deserved a watchful spirit's care; 
Some dire disaster, or by force, or slight; 
But what, or where, the fates have wrapped in 
night. 
105 Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law, 
Or some frail China jar receive a flaw; 
Or stain her honour, or her new brocade; 
Forget her pray'rs, or miss a masquerade; 
Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball ; 
110 Or whether heav'n has doom'd that Shock must 
fall. 
Haste, then, ye spirits! to your charge repair: 
The flutt'ring fan be Zephyretta's care; 
The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign; 
And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine; 
115 Do thou, Crispissa, tend her fav'rite lock; 
Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock. 
" To fifty chosen Sylphs, of special note. 
We trust th' important charge, the petticoat: 

Form a strong line about the silver bound, 
And guard the wide circumference around. 
"Whatever spirit, careless of his charge. 
His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large, 
125 Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his sins, 
Be stopped in vials, or transfixed with pins; 
Or plunged in lakes of bitter washes lie. 
Or wedged, whole ages in a bodkin's eye; 



ALEXANDEB POPE 169 

Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain, 
130 While clogged he beats his silken wings in vain; 

Or alum stypties with contracting pow'r. 

Shrink his thin essence like a rivelled flower; 

Or, as Ixion fixed, the wretch shall feel 

The giddy motion of the whirling mill, 
135 In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow. 

And tremble at the sea that froths below ! " 
He spoke ; the spirits from the sails descend : 

Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend ; 

Some thrid the mazy ringlets of her hair; 
140 Some hang upon the pendants of her ear; 

With beating hearts the dire event they wait, 

Anxious, and trembling for the birth of fate. 

CANTO III. 

Close by those meads, for ever crowned with 

flow'rs. 
Where Thames with pride surveys his rising 

tow'rs, 
There stands a structure of majestic frame, 
Which from the neighb'ring Hampton takes its 
name. 
6 Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall foredoom 
Of foreign tyrants, and of nymphs at home ; 
Here thou, great Anna ! whom three realms obey. 
Dost sometimes counsel take — and sometimes tea. 
Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort, 
10 To taste a while the pleasures of a court; 

In various talk th' instructive hours they passed, 
Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; 
One speaks the glory of the British Queen, 
And one describes a charming Indian screen; 
15 A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes; 
At ev'ry word a reputation dies. 



170 DKYDEN TO THOMSON 

Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat. 

With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. 
Meanwhile, declining from the noon of day, 
20 The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray ; 

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign. 

And wretches hang that jury-men may dine; 

The merchant from th' Exchange returns in 
peace. 

And the long labours of the toilet cease. 
25 Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites, 

Burns to encounter two advent'rous knights, 

At ombre singly to decide their doom; 

And swells her breast with conquests yet to come. 

Straight the three bands prepare in arms to join, 
30 Each band the number of the sacred nine. 

Soon as she spreads her hand, th' aerial guard 

Descend, and sit on each important card: 

First Ariel perched upon a Matadore, 

Then each according to the rank they bore; 
35 For sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race. 

Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place. 
Behold four kings in majesty revered, 

With hoary whiskers and a forky beard; 

And four fair queens whose hands sustain a 
flow'r, 
40 Th' expressive emblem of their softer pow'r; 

Four knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty band; 

Caps on their heads, and halberts in their hand; 

And parti-coloured troops, a shining train. 

Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain. 
45 The skilful nymph reviews her force with 
care: 

Let spades be trumps! she said, and trumps they 
were. 
Now move to war her sable Matadores, 

In show like leaders of the swarthy Moors. 

Spadillio first, unconquerable lord! 



ALEXANDER POPE iVl 

50 Led off two captive trumps, and swept the board. 
As many more Manillio forced to yield, 
And marched a victor from the verdant field. 
Him Basto followed, but his fate more hard 
Gained but one trump and one plebeian card. 

55 With his broad sabre next, a chief in years. 
The hoary majesty of spades appears. 
Puts forth one manly leg, to sight revealed. 
The rest his many coloured robe concealed. 
The rebel knave, who dares his prince engage, 

60 Proves the just victim of his royal rage. 

Ev'n mighty Pam, that kings and queens 

o'erthrew. 
And mowed down armies in the fights of loo, 
Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid. 
Falls undistinguished by the victor spade! 

65 Thus far both armies to Belinda yield; 
Now to the baron fate inclines the field. 
His warlike Amazon her host invades, 
Th' imperial consort of the crown of spades. 
The club's black tyrant first her victim died, 

70 Spite of his haughty mien, and barb'rous pride: 
What boots the regal circle on his head. 
His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread; 
That long behind he trails his pompous robe, 
And of all monarchs only grasps the globe? 

75 The baron now his diamonds pours apace! 
Th' embroidered king who shows but half his 

face. 
And his refulgent queen, with pow'rs combined. 
Of broken troops, an easy conquest find. 
Clubs, diamonds, hearts, in wild disorder seen, 

80 With throngs promiscuous strew the level green. 
Thus when dispersed a routed army runs. 
Of Asia's troops, and Afric's sable sons. 
With like confusion different nations fly. 
Of various habit, and of various dye; 



172 DEYDEN TO THOMSON 

85 The pierced battalions disunited fall, 

In heaps on heaps; one fate o'erwhelms them all. 

The knave of diamonds tries his wily arts, 
And wins (oh shameful chance!) the queen of 

hearts. 
At this, the blood the virgin's cheek forsook, 
90 A livid paleness spreads o'er all her look ; 
She sees, and trembles at th' approaching ill. 
Just in the jaws of ruin, and codille. 
And now (as oft in some distempered state) 
On one nice trick depends the gen'ral fate : 
95 An ace of hearts steps forth: The king unseen 
Lurked in her hand, and mourned his captive 

queen : 
He springs to vengeance with an eager pace, 
And falls like thunder on the prostrate ace. 
The nymph exulting fills with shouts the sky; 
100 The walls, the woods, and long canals reply. 

Oh thoughtless mortals! ever blind to fate, 
Too soon dejected, and too soon elate. 
Sudden these honours shall be snatched away, 
And cursed for ever this victorious day. 
105 For lo! the board with cups and spoons is 
crowned. 
The berries crackle, and the mill turns round; 
On shining altars of japan they raise 
The silver lamp; the fiery spirits blaze: 
From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide, 
110 While China's earth receives the smoking tide: 
At once they gratify their scent and taste. 
And frequent cups prolong the rich repast. 
Straight hover round the fair her airy band; 
Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor fanned, 
115 Some o'er her lap their careful plumes displayed, 
Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade. 
Coffee (which makes the politician wise, 
And see through all things with his half-shut 
eyes) 



ALEXANDER POPE 173 

Sent up in vapours to the baron's brain 
120 New stratagems, the radiant lock to gain. 
Ah cease, rash youth ! desist ere 'tis too late. 
Fear the just gods, and think of Scylla's fate ! 
Changed to a bird, and sent to flit in air, 
She dearly pays for Nisus' injured hair! 

125 But when to mischief mortals bend their will. 
How soon they find fit instruments of ill ! 
Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting grace 
A two-edged weapon from her shining case: 
So ladies in romance assist their knight, 

130 Present the spear, and arm him for the fight. 
He takes the gift with rev'rence, and extends 
The little engine on his fingers' ends; 
This just behind Belinda's neck he spread. 
As o'er the fragrant steams she bends her head. 

135 Swift to the lock a thousand sprites repair; 

A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the hair; 
And thrice they twitched the diamond in her ear ; 
Thrice she looked back, and thrice the foe 

drew near. 
Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought 

140 The close recesses of the virgin's thought; 
As on the nosegay in her breast reclined. 
He watched th' ideas rising in her mind. 
Sudden he viewed in spite of all her art, 
An earthly .lover lurking at her heart. 

145 Amazed, confused, he found his pow'r expired, 
Eesigned to fate, and with a sigh retired. 

The peer now spreads the glitt'ring f orfex wide 
T' inclose the lock ; now joins it, to divide. 
Ev'n then, before the fatal engine closed, 

150 A wretched sylph too fondly interposed ; 

Fate urged the shears, and cut the sylph in twain, 
(But airy substance soon unites again,) 
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever 
From the fair head, for ever, and for ever! 



174 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

155 Then flashed the living lightning from her 
eyes, 
And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies. 
Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast, 
When husbands, or when lap-dogs breathe their 

last ; 
Or when rich China vessels fall'n from high, 
160 In glitt'ring dust, and painted fragments lie! 

" Let wreaths of triumph now my temples 
twine," 
(The victor cried,) " the glorious prize is mine ! 
While fish in streams, or birds delight in air, 
Or in a coach and six the British fair, 
165 As long as Atalantis shall be read, 
Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed. 
While visits shall be paid on solemn days. 
When num'rous wax-lights in bright order blaze, 
While nymphs take treats, or assignations give, 
170 So long my honour, name, and praise shall live ! " 
What time would spare, from steel receives its 
date. 
And monuments, like men, submit to fate ! 
Steel could the labour of the gods destroy, 
And strike to dust th' imperial tow'rs of Troy; 
175 Steel could the works of mortal pride confound. 
And hew triumphal arches to the ground. 
What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hair should 

feel 
The conqu'ring force of unresisted steel? 



CANTO IV. 

But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppressed. 
And secret passions laboured in her breast. 
Not j^outhful kings in battle seized alive, 
Not scornful virgins who their charms survive, 



t 



ALEXANDER POPE 175 

5 Not ardent lovers robbed of all their bliss, 
Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss, 
Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die, 
Not Cynthia when her manteau's pinned awry, 
E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, 

10 As thou, sad virgin ! for thy ravished hair. 

For, that sad moment, when the sylphs with- 
drew, 
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, 
Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite, 
As ever sullied the fair face of light, 

15 Down to the central earth, his proper scene. 
Repaired to search the gloomy cave of Spleen. 

Swift on his sooty pinions flits the gnome, 
And in a vapour reached the dismal dome. 
No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows, 

20 The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. 
Here in a grotto, sheltered close from air. 
And screened in shades from day's detested glare, 
She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, 
Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head. 

25 Two handmaids wait the throne ; alike in place. 
But diff'ring far in figure and in face. 
Here stood Ill-nature like an ancient maid. 
Her wrinkled form in black and white arrayed; 
With store of pray'rs, for mornings, nights, and 
noons, 

30 Her hand is filled ; her bosom with lampoons. 

There Affectation, with a sickly mien. 

Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen. 

Practised to lisp and hang the head aside, 

Faints into airs, and languishes with pride, 

35 On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe, 
Wrapt in a gown, for sickness, and for show. 
The fair ones feel such maladies as these, 
When each new night-dress gives a new disease. 
A constant vapour o'er the palace flies; 



176 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

40 Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise; 

Dreadful, as hermit's dreams in haunted shades, 
Or bright, as visions of expiring maids. 
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires, 
Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires; 

45 Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes, 
And crystal domes, and angels in machines. 
Unnumbered throngs on ev'ry side are seen, 
Of bodies changed to various forms by Spleen. 
Here living tea-pots stand, one arm held out, 

50 One bent; the handle this, and that the spout; 
A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod walks; 
Here sighs a jar, and there a goose-pye talks; 
Men prove with child, as pow'rful fancy works, 
And maids turned bottles call aloud for corks. 

55 Safe past the gnome through this fantastic band, 
A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand. 
Then thus addressed the pow'r — " Hail, wayward 

queen ! 
Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen ; 
Parent of vapours and of female wit, 

60 Who give th' hysteric, or poetic fit. 

On various tempers act by various ways. 
Make some take physic, others scribble plays; 
Who cause the proud their visits to delay, 
And send the godly in a pet to pray; 

65 A nymph there is, that all thy pow'r disdains, 
And thousands more in equal mirth maintains. 
But, oh! if e'er thy gnome could spoil a grace. 
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face, 
Like citron-waters matrons' cheeks inflame, 

70 Or change complexions at a losing game; 

Or caus'd suspicion when no soul was rude. 
Or discompos'd the head-dress of a prude, 
75 Or e'er to costive lapdog gave disease. 

Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease, 



ALEXANDER POPE 177 

Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin, 
That single act gives half the world the spleen." 
The goddess with a discontented air 
80 Seems to reject him, though she grants his pray'r. 
A wond'rous bag with both her hands she binds, 
Like that where once Ulysses held the winds; 
There she collects the force of female lungs. 
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues, 
85 A phial next she fills with fainting fears, 

Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears. 
The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away. 
Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to 
day. 
Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found, 
90 Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound. 
Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent. 
And all the furies issued at the vent. 
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, 
And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. 
95 " O wretched maid ! " she spread her hands, and 
cried, 
(While Hampton's echoes " Wretched maid ! " 

replied,) 
" Was it for this you took such constant care 
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare? 
For this your locks in paper durance bound? 
100 For this with tort'ring irons wreathed aroimd? 
For this with fillets strained your tender head, 
And bravely bore the double loads of lead? 
Gods ! shall the ravisher display your hair. 
While the fops envy, and the ladies stare ! 
105 Honour forbid! at whose unrivalled shrine 
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign. 
Methinks already I your tears survey, 
Already hear the horrid things they say. 
Already see you a degraded toast, 
110 And all your honour in a whisper lost ! 



178 DEYDEN TO THOMSON 

How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend? 
'Twill then be infamy to seem your friend ! 
And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize. 
Exposed through crystal to the gazing eyes, 

115 And heightened by the diamond's circling rays, 
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze? 
Sooner shall grass in Hyde Park Circus grow, 
And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow; 
Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, 

120 Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all ! " 
She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs. 
And bids her beau demand the precious hairs : 
(Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain. 
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane) 

125 With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face. 
He first the snuff-box opened, then the case, 
And thus broke out — " My Lord, why, what the 

devil ! 
Zounds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you must be 

civil. 
Plague on 't ! 'tis past a jest — nay prithee, pox ! 

130 Give her the hair " — he spoke, and rapped his box. 
" It grieves me much," replied the peer again, 
" Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain. 
But by this lock, this sacred lock I swear, 
(Which never more shall join its parted hair; 

135 Which never more its honours shall renew, 

Clipped from the lovely head where late it grew) 
That, while my nostrils draw the vital air. 
This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear." 
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread 

140 The long-contended honours of her head. 

But Umbriel, hateful gnome ! forbears not so ; 
He breaks the phial whence the sorrows flow. 
Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears. 
Her eyes half -languishing, half-drowned in tears; 

145 On her heaved bosom hung her drooping head, 



ALEXANDER POPE 179 

Which, with a sigh, she raised ; and thus she said. 
" For ever cursed be this detested day, 
Which snatched my best, my fav'rite curl away! 
Happy! ah ten times happy had I been, 

150 If Hampton-Court these eyes had never seen! 
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid, 
By love of courts to num'rous ills betrayed. 
Oh had I rather unadmired remained 
In some lone isle, or distant northern land, 

155 Where the gilt chariot never marks the way. 
Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste bohea 1 
There kept my charms concealed from mortal eye, 
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die. 
What moved my mind with youthful lords to 
roam? 

160 Oh had I stayed, and said my pray'rs at home ! 
'Twas this, the morning omens seemed to tell. 
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box 

fell; 
The tott'ring china shook without a wind, 
Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind ! 

165 A sylph too warned me of the threats of fate, 
In mystic visions, now believed too late! 
See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs! 
My hands shall rend what ev'n thy rapine spares : 
These in two sable ringlets taught to break, 

170 Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck; 
The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone. 
And in its fellow's fate foresees its own; 
Uncurled it hangs, the fatal shears demands. 
And tempts, once more, thy sacrilegious hands. 

175 Oh hadst thou, cruel ! been content to seize 
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these ! " 



180 DEYDEN TO THOMSON 



CANTO V. 



She said: the pitying audience melt in tears. 

But fate and Jove had stopped the baron's ears. 

In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, 

For who can move when fair Belinda fails? 
5 Not half so fixed the Trojan could remain, 

While Anna begged and Dido raged in vain. 

Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her fan ; 

Silence ensued, and thus the njmiph began: 
" Say, why are beauties praised and honoured 
most, 
10 The wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast ? 

Why decked with all that land and sea afford, 

Why angels called, and angel-like adored? 

Why round our coaches crowd the white-gloved 
beaux. 

Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows? 
15 How vain are all these glories, all our pains, 

Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains; 

That men may say, when we the front box grace, 

Behold the first in virtue as in face! 

Oh ! if to dance all night, and dress all day, 
20 Charmed the small-pox, or chased old age away; 

Who would not scorn what housewife's cares pro- 
duce, 

Or who would learn one earthly thing of use? 

To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint, 

Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint. 
25 But since, alas! frail beauty must decay. 

Curled or uncurled, since locks will turn to gray; 

Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade, 

And she who scorns a man, must die a maid; 

What then remains but well our pow'r to use, 
30 And keep good-humour, still whate'er we lose? 

And trust me, dear ! good-humour can prevail, 

When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding 
fail. 



ALEXANDER PO«*E 181 

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; 

Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul." 
35 So spoke the dame, but no applause ensued; 

Belinda frowned, Thalestris called her prude. 

" To arms, to arms ! " the fierce virago cries. 

And swift as lightning to the combat flies. 

All side in parties, and begin th' attack; 
40 Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones 
crack ; 

Heroes' and heroines' shouts confus'dly rise. 

And base and treble voices strike the skies. 

ISTo common weapons in their hands are found. 

Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound. 
45 So when bold Homer makes the gods engage. 

And heav'nly breasts with human passions rage; 

'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms; 

And all Olympus rings with loud alarms : 

Jove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles all around, 
50 Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps re- 
sound : 

Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives 
way, 

And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day ! 
Triumphant IJmbriel on a sconce's height 

Clapped his glad wings, and sate to view the 
fight. 
65 Propped on their bodkin spears, the sprites survey 

The growing combat, or assist the fray. 

While through the press enraged Thalestris 
flies. 

And scatters death around from both her eyes, 

A beau and witling perished in the throng, 
60 One died in metaphor, and one in song. 

" O cruel nymph ! a living death I bear," 

Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. 

A mournful glance Sir Fopling upward cast, 

" Those eyes are made so killing " — was his last. 



182 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 



65 Thus on Meander's flow'ry margin lies 

Th' expiring swan, and as he sings he dies. 
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa 
down, 
Chloe stepped in, and killed him with a frown; 
She smiled to see the doughty hero slain, 

70 But, at her smile, the beau revived again. 

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air, 
Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair; 
The doubtful beam long nods from side to side ; 
At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside. 

75 See fierce Belinda on the baron flies. 

With more than usual lightning in her eyes : 
Nor fear'd the chief th' unequal fight to try. 
Who sought no more than on his foe to die. 
But this bold lord with manly strength endued, 

80 She with one finger and a thumb subdued; 
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, 
A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw; 
The gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom just, 
The pungent grains of titillating dust. 

85 Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows. 
And the high dome re-echoes to his nose. 

" Now meet thy fate," incensed Belinda cried. 
And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. 
(The same, his ancient personage to deck, 

90 Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck. 
In three seal-rings ; which after, melted down, 
Formed a vast buckle for his widow's gown: 
Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew. 
The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew; 

95 Then in a bodkin graced her mother's hairs. 
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.) 

" Boast not my fall," he cried, " insulting foe ! 
Thou by some other shalt be laid as low : 
Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind.; 
100 All that I dread is leaving you behind ! 



1 



ALEXANDER POPE 183 

Rather than so, ah let me still survive, 

And burn in Cupid's flames — but burn alive." 

" Restore the lock ! " she cries ; and all around 
" Restore the lock ! " the vaulted roofs rebound. 

105 Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain 

Roared for the handkerchief that caused his pain. 
But see how oft' ambitious aims are crossed. 
And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost! 
The lock, obtained with guilt, and kept with pain, 

110 In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain: 
With such a prize no mortal must be blest. 
So heav'n decrees : with heav'n who can contest ? 
Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere. 
Since all things lost on earth are treasured there. 

115 There heroes' wits are kept in pond'rous vases, 
And beaus' in snuif-boxes and tweezer-cases. 
There broken vows, and death-bad alms are found. 
And lovers' hearts with ends of ribbon bound. 
The courtier's promises, and sick man's pray'rs, 

120 The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea. 
Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. 

But trust the Muse — she saw it upward rise, 
Tho' mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes : 

125 (So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns with- 
drew. 
To Proculus alone confessed in view) 
A sudden star, it shot through liquid air, 
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. 
Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright, 

130 The heav'ns bespangling with disheveled light. 
The sylphs behold it kindling as it flies. 
And pleased pursue its progress through the skies. 
This the beau monde shall from the Mall 
survey. 
And hail with music its propitious ray; 

135 This the bless'd lover shall for Venus take. 



184 DBYDEN TO THOMSON 

And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake; 
This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies, 
When next he looks through Galileo's eyes; 
And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom 

140 The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome. 

Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy rav- 
ished hair. 
Which adds new glory to the shining sphere! 
'Not all the tresses that fair head can boast. 
Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost. 

145 For after all the murders of your eye. 

When, after millions slain, yourself shall die; 
When those fair suns shall set, as set they must. 
And all those tresses shall be laid in dust. 
This lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame, 

150 And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name. 



ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTU- 
NATE LADY. 

(1717) 

What beck'ning ghost, along the moon-light shade 

Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? 

'Tis she! — but why that bleeding bosom gored? 

Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? 
5 Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly ! tell. 

Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well? 

To bear too tender, or too firm a heart. 

To act a lover's or a Roman's part? 

Is there no bright reversion in the sky, 
10 For those who greatly think, or bravely die? 
Why bade ye else, ye pow'rs ! her soul aspire 

Above the vulgar flight of low desire ? 

Ambition first sprung from your blessed abodes; 

The glorious fault of angels and of gods : 
15 Thence to their images on earth it flows, 

And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows. 



ALEXANDER POPE 185 

Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age, 

Dull sullen pris'ners in the body's cage: 

Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years 
20 Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres; 

Like Eastern kings a lazy state they keep. 

And, close confined to their own palace, sleep. 
From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die) 

Fate snatched her early to the pitying sky. 
25 As into air the purer spirits flow. 

And sep'rate from their kindred dregs below; 

So flew the soul to its congenial place, 

Nor left one virtue to redeem her race. 

But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, 
30 Thou mean deserter of thy brother's blood! 

See on these ruby lips the trembling breath. 

These cheeks now fading at the blast of death; 

Cold is that breast which warmed the world be- 
fore. 

And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. 
35 Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball. 

Thus shall your wives, and thus your children 
fall: 

On all the line a sudden vengeance waits. 

And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates; 

Their passengers shall stand, and pointing say, 
40 (While the long fun'rals blacken all the way) 

" Lo ! these were they, whose souls the furies 
steeled, 

" And cursed with hearts unknowing how to 
yield." 

Thus unlamented passed the proud away. 

The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! 
45 So perish all, whose breast ne'er learned to glow 

For others' good, or melt at others' woe. 
What can atone, oh ever-injured shade! 

Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid? 

No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear 



186 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

50 Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful 
bier. 
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed, 
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed, 
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned, 
By strangers honoured and by strangers mourned ! 

55 What though no friends in sable weeds appear. 
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year. 
And bear about the mockery of woe 
To midnight dances, and the public show? 
What though no weeping loves thy ashes grace, 

60 ^or polished marble emulate thy face? 

What though no sacred earth allow thee room, 
^Nor hallowed dirge be muttered o'er thy tomb ? 
Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be dressed, 
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast : 

65 There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow. 
There the first roses of the year shall blow; 
While angels with their silver wings o'ershade 
The ground, now sacred by thy reliques made. 
So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, 

70 What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame. 
How loved, how honoured once, avails thee not. 
To whom related, or by whom begot; 
A heap of dust alone remains of thee; 
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be ! 

75 Poets themselves must fall like those they sung. 
Deaf the praised ear, and mute the tuneful 

tongue. 
Even he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays. 
Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays; 
Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part, 

80 And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart. 
Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er. 
The muse forgot, and thou beloved no more ! 



I 



ALEXANDER POPE 18l 



UNIVERSAL PRAYER 

(Published 1738) 

Father of all! in ev'ry age. 

In ev'ry clime adored, 
By saint, by savage, and by sage, 

Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ! 

5 Thou Great First Cause, least understood! 
Who all my sense confined 
To know but this, that Thou art good. 
And that myself am blind; 

Yet gave me in this dark estate, 
10 To see the good from ill: 
And binding nature fast in fate, 
Lieft free the human will. 

What conscience dictates to be done. 
Or warns me not to do, 
15 This teach me more than hell to shun, 
That, more than heav'n pursue. 

What blessings thy free bounty gives 

Let me not cast away; 
For God is paid when man receives : 
20 T' enjoy is to obey. 

Yet not to earth's contracted span 

The goodness let me bound, 
Or think Thee Lord alone of man, 

When thousand worlds are round : 

25 Let not this weak, unknowing hand 
Presume thy bolts to throw. 
And deal damnation round the land 
On each I judge thy foe. 



188 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

If I am right, thy grace impart 
30 Still in the right to stay: 

If I am wrong, oh teach my heart 
To find that better way. 

Save me alike from foolish pride, 
Or impious discontent, 
35 At aught thy wisdom has denied. 
Or aught thy goodness lent. 

Teach me to feel another's woe, 

To hide the fault I see; 
That mercy I to others show, 
40 That mercy show to me. 

Mean though I am, not wholly so. 
Since quickened by thy breath : 

Oh lead me wheresoe'er I go. 

Through this day's life or death. 

45 This day be bread and peace my lot : 
All else beneath the sun. 
Thou know'st if best bestowed or not. 
And let thy will be done. 

To Thee, whose temple is all space, 
50 Whose altar, earth, sea, skies. 
One chorus let all being raise; 
All nature's incense rise! 

EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT 

BEING THE PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES 

(Published 1735) 

P. Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigued I said 
Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. 
The Dog-star rages! nay, 'tis past a doubt. 
All Bedlam, or Parnassus is let out: 



ALEXANDER POPE 189 

5 Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand. 

They rave, recite, and madden round the land. 

What walls can guard me, or what shades can 
hide? 

They pierce my thickets, through my grot they 
glide. 

By land, by water, they renew the charge, 
10 They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. 

No place is sacred, not the church is free, 

Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me: 

Then from the Mint walks forth the man of 
rhyme, 

Happy! to catch me, just at dinner-time. 
15 Is there a parson, much be-mus'd in beer, 

A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer; 

A clerk, foredoomed his father's soul to cross. 

Who pens a stanza, when he should engross? 

Is there, who, locked from ink and paper, scrawls 
20 With desperate charcoal round his darkened 
walls ? 

All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain 

Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain. 

Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws. 

Imputes to me and my damned works the cause: 
25 Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope, 

And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope. 

Friend to my life ! (which did not you prolong. 

The world had wanted many an idle song), 

What drop or nostrum can this plague remove? 
30 Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love ? 

A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped, 

If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead. 

Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched I! 

Who can't be silent, and who will not lie: 
35 To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace. 

And to be grave, exceeds all power of face. 

I sit with sad civility, I read 



190 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

With honest anguish, and an aching head; 
And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, 
40 This saving counsel — " Keep your piece nine 
years." 
" Nine years ! " cries he, who, high in Drury 
Lane, 
Lulled by soft zephyrs through the broken pane. 
Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term 

ends. 
Obliged by hunger and request of friends: 
45 " The piece you think is incorrect ? why take it ; 
I'm all submission; what you'd have it, make it." 

Three things another's modest wishes bound. 
My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound. 
Pitholeon sends to me : " You know his grace, 
50 I want a patron ; ask him for a place." 
Pitholeon libelled me — " but here's a letter 
Informs you, sir, 'twas when he knew no better. 
Dare you refuse him? Curll invites to dine; 
He'll write a journal, or he'll turn divine." 
55 Bless me ! a packet. " 'Tis a stranger sues, 
A virgin tragedy, an orphan Muse." 
If I dislike it, " Furies, death, and rage ! " 
If I approve, " Commend it to the stage." 
There (thank my stars) my whole commission 
ends, 
60 The players and I are, luckily, no friends. 

Fired that the house reject him, " 'Sdeath I'll 

print it. 
And shame the fools — Your interest, sir, with 

Lintot." 
Lintot, dull rogue, will think your price too 

much: 
" Not, sir, if you revise it, and retouch." 
65 All my demurs but double his attacks: 

At last he whispers, " Do ; and we go snacks." 
Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door: 



ALEXANDER POPE 191 

" Sir, let me see your works and you no more." 

One dedicates in high heroic prose, 

110 And ridicules beyond a hundred foes: 

One from all Grubstreet will my fame defend, 
And, more abusive, calls himself my friend. 
This prints my letters, that expects a bribe, 
And others roar aloud, " Subscribe, subscribe ! " 

115 There are who to my person pay their court : 
I cough like Horace, and, though lean, am short. 
Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high,— 
Such Ovid's nose, — and, " sir, you have an eye." 
Go on, obliging creatures, make me see 

120 All that disgraced my betters met in me. 
Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed, 
" Just so immortal Maro held his head : " 
And, when I die, be sure you let me know 
Great Homer died three thousand years ago. 

125 Why did I write? what sin to me unknown 
Dipped me in ink, my parents', or my own ? 
As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, 
I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came. 
I left no calling for this idle trade, 

130 IsTo duty broke, no father disobeyed : 

The muse but served to ease some friend, not wife, 
To help me through this long disease, my life; 
To second, Arbuthnot! thy art and care. 
And teach the being you preserved to bear. 

Soft were my numbers; who could take offence 
While pure description held the place of sense? 

Did some more sober critic come abroad — 
If wrong, I smiled; if right, I kissed the rod. 
Pains, reading, study, are their just pretence, 
160 And all they want is spirit, taste, and sense. 
Commas and points they set exactly right. 



192 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

And 't were a sin to rob them of their mite. 

Were others angry — I excused them too; 
Well might they rage, I gave them but their due. 

175 A man's true merit 'tis not hard to find; 
But each man's secret standard in his mind, 
That casting-weight pride adds to emptiness, 
This, who can gratify, for who can guess? 
The bard whom pilfered Pastorals renown, 

180 Who turns a Persian tale for half-a-crown. 
Just writes to make his barrenness appear. 
And strains from hard-bound brains, eight lines 

a-year ; 
He, who still wanting, though he lives on theft. 
Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left: 

185 And he, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, 
Means not, but blunders round about a meaning: 
And he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad. 
It is not poetry but prose run mad : 
All these, my modest satire bade translate, 

190 And owned that nine such poets made a Tate. 
How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and 

chafe ! 
And swear, not Addison himself was safe. 

Peace to all such! but were there one whose 
fires 
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; 

195 Blest with each talent, and each art to please. 
And born to write, converse, and live with ease : 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, 
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne. 
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, 

200 And hate for arts that caused himself to rise ; 
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer. 
And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; 
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, 
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike. 



ALEXANDER POPE 193 

205 Alike reserved to blame, or to commend, 
A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend; 
Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, 
And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged; 
Like Cato, give his little senate laws, 

210 And sit attentive to his own applause; 

While wits and templars every sentence raise, 
And wonder with a foolish face of praise — 
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? 
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he? 



PART FOURTH 
THOMPSON TO TENNYSON 

Cir. 1730-(7t>. 1830 

James ITbomson 

1700-1748 

SPRING 

(1738) 
(From TJie Seasons) 

Come, gentle Spring, etherial mildness, come. 
And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud. 
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower 
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. 

And see where surly Winter passes off. 
Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts : 
His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill. 
The shatter'd forest, and the ravag'd vale; 

15 While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch, 
Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost. 
The mountains lift their green heads to the sky. 
As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd. 
And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze, 

20 Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets 
Deform the day delightless; so that scarce 
The bittern knows his time, with bill engulf'd 

195 



196 JAMES THOMSON 

To shake the sounding marsh; or from the shore 
The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath, 

25 And sing their wild notes to the listening waste. 
At last from Aries rolls the bounteous Sun, 
And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more 
Th' expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold; 
But, full of life and vivifying soul, 

30 Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them 
thin. 
Fleecy and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven. 
Forth fly the tepid airs; and unconfin'd, 
Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays. 
Joyous, the impatient husbandman perceives 

35 Relenting Nature, and his lusty steers 

Drives from their stalls, to where the well-us'd 

plough 
Lies in the furrow, loosen'd from the frost. 
There, unrefusing, to the harness'd yoke 
They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil, 

40 Cheer'd by the simple song and soaring lark. 
Meanwhile incumbent o'er the shining share 
The master leans, removes th' obstructing clay. 
Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the 
glebe. 
While thro' the neighb'ring fields the sower 
stalks, 

45 With measur'd step ; and liberal throws the grain 
Into the faithful bosom of the ground: 
The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene. 
Be gracious, Heaven ! for now laborious Man 
Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow! 

50 Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend ! 
And temper all, thou world-reviving sun, 
Into the perfect year! Nor ye who live 
In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride, 
Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear: 

65 Such themes as these the rural Maro sung 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 197 

To wide imperial Rome, in the full height 
Of elegance and taste, by Greece refin'd. 
In ancient times, the sacred plough employ'd 
The kings and awful fathers of mankind: 

60 And some, with whom compar'd your insect-tribes 
Are but the beings of a summer's day. 
Have held the scale of empire, rul'd the storm 
Of mighty war; then, with victorious hand, 
Disdaining little delicacies, seiz'd 

65 The plough, and greatly independent, scorn'd 
All the vile stores Corruption can bestow. 

Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough; 
And o'er your hills, and long-withdrawing vales, 
Let Autumn spread his treasures to the sun, 

70 Luxuriant and unbounded: as the Sea, 
Far thro' his azure turbulent domain. 
Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores 
Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports ; 
So with superior boon may your rich soil, 

75 Exuberant, IsTature's better blessings pour 
O'er every land, the naked nations clothe. 
And be th' exhaustless granary of a world! 

From the moist meadow to the wither'd hill. 
Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs 
And swells, and deepens, to the cherish'd eye. 

90 The hawthorn whitens; and the juicy groves 
Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees. 
Till the whole leafy forest stands display'd, . 
In full luxuriance to the sighing gales ; 
Where the deer rustle through the twining brake. 

95 And the birds sing conceal'd. At once array'd 
In all the colours of the flushing year. 
By Nature's swift and secret-working hand, 
The garden glows, and fills the liberal air 
With lavish fragrance; while the promis'd fruit 
100 Lies yet a little embryo, unperceiv'd. 



198 JAMES THOMSON 

Within its crimson fold. Now from the town, 
Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisome damps. 
Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields. 
Where freshness breathes, and dash the trem- 
b'ling drops 

105 From the bent bush, as thro' the verdant maze 
Of sweet-briar hedges I pursue my walk; 
Or taste the smell of dairy, or ascend 
Some eminence, AuGUSTA, in thy plains, 
And see the country, far diffused around, 

110 One boundless blush, one white empurpled 
shower 
Of mingled blossoms; where the raptur'd eye 
Hurries from joy to joy, and, hid beneath 
The fair profusion, yellow Autumn spies. 

SUMMER 

(1827) 

From brightening fields of ether fair disclos'd, 
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes. 
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's 

depth : 
He comes attended by the sultry Hours, 
5 And ever-fanning breezes, on his way; 

While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring, 
Averts her blushful face; and earth, and skies. 
All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves. 

Hence, let me haste into the mid-wood shade, 
10 Where scarce a sunbeam wanders thro' the 

gloom ; 
And on the dark-green grass, beside the brink 
Of haunted stream, that by the roots of oak 
Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large. 
And sing the glories of the circling year. 

Now swarms the village o'er the joyful mead: 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 199 

The rustic youth, brown with meridian toil. 
Healthful and strong; full as the summer rose 

355 Blown by prevailing suns, the ruddy maid, 
Half naked, swelling on the sight, and all 
Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek. 
E'en stooping age is here; and infant hands 
Trail the long rake, or, with the fragrant load 

360 O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppression roll. 
Wide flies the tedded grain; all in a row 
Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field, 
They spread their breathing harvest to the sun. 
That throws refreshful round a rural smell. 

365 Or, as they take the green-appearing ground, 
And drive the dusky wave along the mead, 
The russet hay-cock rises thick behind, 
In order gay: While, heard from dale to dale, 
Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice 

370 Of happy labour, love, and social glee. 

Or rushing thence, in one diffusive band, 
They drive the troubled flocks, by many a dog 
Compell'd, to where the mazy-running brook 
Forms a deep pool : this bank abrupt and high, 

375 And that fair spreading in a pebbled shore. 
Urg'd to the giddy brink, much is the toil. 
The clamour much, of men, and boys, and dogs. 
Ere the soft fearful people to the flood 
Commit their woolly sides. And oft the swain, 

380 On some impatient seizing, hurls them in: 
Embolden'd then, nor hesitating more. 
Fast, fast, they plunge amid the flashing wave, 
And, panting, labour to the farther shore. 
Eepeated this till deep the well-wash'd fleece 

385 Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt 
The trout is banish'd by the sordid stream; 
Heavy, and dripping to the breezy brow 
Slow move the harmless race; where, as they 
spread 



200 JAMES THOMSOiS 

Their swelling treasures to the sunny ray, 
390 Inly disturb'd, and wond'ring what this wild 
Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints 
The country fill; and, tost from rock to rock. 
Incessant bleatings run around the hills. 
At last, of snowy white, the gather'd flocks 
395 Are in the wattled pen innumerous press'd, 
Head above head: and, rang'd in lusty rows. 
The shepherds sit, and whet the sounding shears. 
The housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores, 
With all her gay-drest maids attending round. 
400 One, chief, in gracious dignity enthron'd, 

Shines o'er the rest, the pastoral queen, and rays 
Her smiles, sweet beaming, on her shepherd king ; 
While the glad circle round them yield their souls 
To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall. 

AUTUMN 

(1730) 

Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf. 
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain. 
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more. 
Well pleas'd, I tune. Whate'er the Wintry frost 
5 Nitrous prepar'd, the various-blossom'd Spring 
Put in white promise forth; and Summer's suns 
Concocted strong ; rush boundless now to view. 
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme. 

But see, the fading many-colour'd woods, 
950 Shade deepening over shade, the country round 
Imbrown; a crowded umbrage, dusk, and dun, 
Of every hue, from wan declining green 
To sooty dark. These now the lonesome Muse, 
Low- whispering, lead into their leaf-strown 
walks, 
955 And give the season in its latest view. 

Meantime, light shadowing all, a sober calm 



JAMES THOMSON 201 

Fleeces unbounded ether; whose least wave 
Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn 
The gentle current; while, illumin'd wide, 

960 The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun, 
And thro' their lucid veil his soften'd force 
Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time. 
For those whom Wisdom and whom Nature 

charm, 
To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd, 

965 And soar above this little scene of things; 

To tread low-thoughted Vice beneath their feet; 
To soothe the throbbing passions into peace, 
And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks. 
Thus solitary, and in pensive guise, 

970 Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead. 

And thro' the sadden'd grove, where scarce is 

heard 
One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's toil. 
Haply some widow'd songster pours his plaint, 
Far, in faint warblings, thro' the tawny copse; 

975 While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks. 

And each wild throat, whose artless strains so 

late 
Swell'd all the music of the swarming shades, 
Robb'd of their tuneful souls, now shivering sit 
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock; 

980 With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes, 
And nought save chattering discord in their note. 
Oh, let not, aim'd from some inhuman eye. 
The gun the music of the coming year 
Destroy; and harmless, unsuspecting harm, 

985 Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey. 

In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground! 
The pale descending year, yet pleasing still, 
A gentler mood inspires; for now the leaf 
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove; 

990 Oft startling such as, studious, walk below. 



a02 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

And slowly circles thro' the waving air. 
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs 
Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams; 
Till chok'd, and matted with the dreary shower, 
995 The forest-walks, at every rising gale, 

Roll wide the witherd waste, and whistle bleak. 
Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields: 
And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race 
Their sunny robes resign. Even what remain'd 
1000 Of stronger fruits fall from the naked tree; 

And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around 
The desolated prospect thrills the soul. 



WINTER 

(1726) 

See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year. 
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train^ 
Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my 

theme ; 
These, that exalt the soul to solemn thought, 
5 And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred 

glooms ! 
Congenial horrors, hail ! With frequent foot, 
Pleas'd have I, in my cheerful morn of life, 
When nurs'd by careless Solitude I liv'd. 
And sung of Xature with unceasing joy, — 
10 Pleas'd have I wander'd through your rough 

domain ; 
Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure; 
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst ; 
Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brew'd. 
In the grim evening sky. Thus pass'd the time, 
15 Till through the lucid chambers of the South 
Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and 

smii'd. 



JAMES THOMSON 203 

The keener tempests come: and fuming dun 
From all the livid East, or piercing North, 

225 Thick clouds ascend; in whose capacious womb 
A vapoury deluge lies, to snow congeal'd. 
Heavy they roll their fleecy world along, 
And the sky saddens with the gather'd storm. 
Thro' the hush'd air the whitening shower de- 
scends, 

230 At first thin-wavering; till at last the flakes 

Fall broad and wide, and fast, dimming the day 
With a continual flow. The cherish'd fields 
Put on their winter-robe of purest white. 
'Tis brightness all ; save where the new snow melts 

235 Along the mazy current. Low the woods 

Bow their hoar head; and, ere the languid Sun 
Faint from the West emits his evening ray. 
Earth's universal face, deep-hid, and chill. 
Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide 

240 The works of Man. Drooping, the labourer-ox 
Stands cover'd o'er with snow, and then demands 
The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven, 
Tam'd by the cruel season, crowd around 
The winnowing store, and claim the little boon 

245 Which Providence assigns them. One alone, 
The red-breast, sacred to the household gods. 
Wisely regardful of th' embroiling sky, 
In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves 
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man 

250 His annual visit. Half afraid, he first 

Against the window beats ; then, brisk, alights 
On the warm hearth ; then, hopping o'er the floor. 
Eyes all the smiling family askance. 
And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is: 

255 Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs 
Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds 
Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, 
Though timorous of heart, and hard beset 



204 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

By death in various forms — dark snares, and dogs, 
260 And more unpitying men^ — the garden seeks, 
Urg'd on by fearless want. The bleating kind 
Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening 

earth. 
With looks of dumb despair; then, sad-dispers'd. 
Dig for the wither'd herb thro' heaps of snow. 

Ah ! little think the gay licentious proud. 
Whom pleasure, pow'r, and affluence surround; 
They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth 

325 And wanton, often cruel, riot waste; — 

Ah! little think they, while they dance along, 
How many feel, this very moment, death 
And all the sad variety of pain. 
How many sink in the devouring flood, 

330 Or more devouring flame; how many bleed. 
By shameful variance betwixt man and man: 
How many pine in want and dungeon glooms. 
Shut from the common air, and common use 
Of their own limbs : How many drink the cup 

335 Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread 
Of misery : sore pierc'd by wintry winds. 
How many shrink into the sordid hut 
Of cheerless poverty: how many shake 
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, — 

340 Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse; 
Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life. 
They furnish matter for the tragic Muse: 
Ev'n in the vale where wisdom loves to dwell. 
With Friendship, Peace, and Contemplation 
join'd, 

345 How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop 
In deep-retir'd distress: how many stand 
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends. 
And point the parting anguish. Thought fond 
man 



JAMES THOMSON 205 

Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, 
360 That one incessant struggle render life. 

One scene of toil, of suff'ring, and of fate; 
Vice in his high career would stand appall'd. 
And heedless rambling Impulse learn to think; 
The conscious heart of Charity would warm, 
355 And her wide wish Benevolence dilate; 

The social tear would rise, the social sigh; 
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss. 
Refining still, the social passions work. 
And here can I forget the generous band, 
360 Who, touch'd with human woe, redressive 
search'd 
Into the horrors of the gloomy jail? 
Unpitied and unheard, where misery moans; 
Where Sickness pines ; where Thirst and Hunger 

burn, 
And poor Misfortune feels the lash of Vice. 
365 While in the land of liberty — the land 

Whose every street and public meeting glow 
With open freedom — little tyrants rag'd; 
Snatch 'd the lean morsel from the starving 

mouth ; 
Tore from cold wintry limbs the tatter'd weed; 
370 Even robb'd them of the last of comforts, sleep ; 
The free-born Briton to the dungeon chain'd. 
Or, as the lust of cruelty prevail'd, 
At pleasure mark'd him with inglorious stripes; 
And crush'd out lives, by secret barbarous ways, 
375 That for their country would have toil'd, or bled. 
Oh great design ! if executed well. 
With patient care and wisdom-temper'd zeal. 
Ye sons of mercy! yet resume the search; 
Drag forth the legal monsters into light, 
380 Wrench from their hands Oppression's iron rod. 
And bid the cruel feel the pangs they give. 
Much still untouch'd remains; in this rank age, 



206 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Much is the patriot's weeding hand requir'd. 
The toils of law, — what dark insidious men 
385 Have cumbrous added, to perplex the truth. 
And lengthen simple justice into trade, — 
How glorious were the day that saw these broke, 
And every man within the reach of right ! 



RULE BRITANNIA 

(1740) 

When Britain first at Heaven's command 
Arose from out the azure main. 

This was the charter of her land. 

And guardian angels sung the strain: 
5 Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! 
Britons never shall be slaves. 

The nations not so blest as thee 

Must in their turn to tyrants fall. 
While thou shalt flourish great and free, 
10 The dread and envy of them all. 

Still more majestic shalt thou rise. 

More dreadful from each foreign stroke; 

As the loud blast that tears the skies 
Serves but to root thy native oak. 

15 Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; 
All their attempts to bend thee down 
Will but arouse thy generous flame, 
And work their woe and thy renown. 

To thee belongs the rural reign; 
20 Thy cities shall with commerce shine; 
All thine shall be the subject main. 
And every shore it circles thine ! 



WILLIAM COLLINS 20 7 

The Muses, still with Freedom found, 
Shall to thy happy coast repair; 
25 Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd 
And manly hearts to guard the fair: — 
Kule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves 1 
Britons never shall be slaves! 



Mtlliam Collins 

1731-1759. 
ODE TO EVENING 

(From Odes, 1746) 

If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 

May hope, chaste eve, to soothe thy modest ear, 

Like thy own solemn springs. 

Thy springs, and dying gales, 

5 O nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired 
sun. 
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts. 
With brede ethereal wove, 
O'erhang his wavy bed: 

Now air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat 
10 With short, shrill shriek, flits by on leathern 
wing; 
Or where the beetle winds 
His small but sullen horn. 

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path. 
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum: 
15 Now teach me, maid composed. 

To breath some softened strain, 



208 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening 

vale, 
May, not unseemly, with its stillness suit. 
As, musing slow, I hail 
20 Thy genial loved return! 

For when thy folding star arising shows 
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 

The fragrant hours, and elves 

Who slept in flowers the day, 

25 And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with 
sedge, 
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, 
The pensive pleasures sweet 
Prepare thy shadowy car. 

There lead, calm votaress, where some sheety lake 
30 Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallowed pile, 
Or up-land fallows grey 
Keflect its last cool gleam. 

But when chill blustering winds, or driving rain, 
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut, 
35 That from the mountain's side, 

Views wilds, and swelling floods, 

And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires; 
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all 
Thy dewy fingers draw 
40 The gradual dusky veil. 

While spring shall pour his showers, as oft he 

wont, 
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest eve ! 

While summer loves to sport 

Beneath thy lingering light; 



WILLIAM COLLINS 209 

45 While sallow autumn fills thy lap with leaves- 
Or winter yelling through the troublous air, ' 
Affrights thy shrinking train, 
And rudely rends thy robes; 

So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan shed 
50 Shall fancy, friendship, science, rose-lipp'd 
health, 
Thy gentlest influence own. 
And hymn thy favorite name! 



THE PASSIONS 

AN ODE FOR MUSIC 

(From the same) 

When music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung. 
The passions oft, to hear her shell. 
Thronged around her magic cell, 
5 Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possest beyond the muse's painting: 
By turns they felt the glowing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined; 
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 
10 Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatched her instruments of sound; 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
15 Each (for madness ruled the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 
First fear, his hand, its skill to try, 

Amid the chords bewildered laid, 
And back recoiled, he knew not why, 
20 Even at the sound himself had made. 



210 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

iN'ext anger rushed; his eyes on fire. 
In lightnings owned his secret stings: 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre. 

And swept, with hurried hand, the strings. 

25 With woful measures wan despair 

Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled; 
A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 

But thou, O hope, with eyes so fair, 
30 What was thy delightful measure? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure. 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong; 
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
35 She called on echo still, through all the song ; 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close. 
And hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden 

hair. 
And longer had she sung; — but, with a frown, 
40 Revenge impatient rose: 

He threw his blood-stained sword, in thunder, 
down; 
And with a withering look, 
The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
45 Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! 
And, ever and anon, he beat 
The doubling drum, with furious heat ; 
And though sometimes, each dreary pause be- 
tween. 
Dejected pitj^ at his side, 
50 Her soul-subduing voice applied. 

Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, 
While each strained ball of sight seemed burst- 
ing from his head. 



WILLIAM COLLINS 211 

Thy numbers, jealousy, to naught were fixed; 
Sad proof of thy distressful state; 
55 Of differing themes the veering song was 
mixed ; 

And now it courted love, now raving called on 
hate. 
With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 
Pale melancholy sat retired; 
And, from her wild sequestered seat, 
60 In notes by distance made more sweet. 

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 
And, dashing soft from rocks around. 
Bubbling runnels joined the sound; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure 
stole, 
65 Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 
Round an holy calm diffusing. 
Love of peace, and lonely musing. 
In hollow murmurs died away. 
But O! how altered was its sprightlier tone, 
70 When cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. 
Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew. 
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung. 
The hunter's call, to faun and dryad known ! 
75 The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed 
queen. 
Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen. 
Peeping from forth their alleys green: 
Brown exercise rejoiced to hear; 

And sport leapt up, and seized his beechen 
spear. 
80 Last came joy's ecstatic trial: 

He, with viny crown advancing. 

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; 
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol. 

Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the 
best; 



212 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

85 They would have thought who heard the strain 
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, 
Amidst the festal sounding shades. 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing. 

While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, 
90 Love framed with mirth a gay fantastic 

round : 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone un- 
bound ; 
And he, amidst his frolic play, 
As if he would the charming air repay. 
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 

95 O music ! sphere-descended maid. 

Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid! 

Why, goddess! why, to us denied, 

Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? 

As, in that loved Athenian bower, 
100 You learned an all-commanding power, 

Thy mimic soul, O nymph endeared, 

Can well recall what then it heard; 

Where is thy native simple heart, 

Devote to virtue, fancy, art? 
105 Arise, as in that elder time. 

Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! 

Thy wonders, in that godlike age. 

Fill thy recording sister's page — 

'Tis said, and I believe the tale, 
110 Thy humblest reed could more prevail. 

Had more of strength, diviner rage. 

Than all which charms this laggard age; 

E'en all at once together found, 

Cecilia's mingled world of sound — 
115 O bid our vain endeavours cease; 

Revive the just designs of Greece: 

Return in all thy simple state! 

Confirm the tales her sons relate! 



WILLIAM COLLINS 213 

ODE 

WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR 1746 

How sleep the brave who sink to rest, 
By all their country's wishes blessed! 
When spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould, 
5 She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung; 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung; 
There honour comes, a pilgrim grey, 
10 To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 
And freedom shall awhile repair. 
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there! 

DIRGE IN CYMBELINE 

SUNG BY GDIDERUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE, SUP- 
POSED TO BE DEAD 

(First published in The Gentleman's Magazine, for October, 
1749) 

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb 

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring 

Each opening sweet of earliest bloom. 
And rifle all the breathing spring. 

5 No wailing ghost shall dare appear 

To vex with shrieks this quiet grove; 
But shepherd lads assemble here. 
And melting virgins own their love. 



214 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

No withered witch shall here be seen; 
10 No goblins lead their nightly crew: 
The female fays shall haunt the green, 
And dress thy grave with pearly dew ! 

The redbreast oft, at evening hours. 
Shall kindly lend his little aid, 
15 With hoary moss, and gathered flowers, 
To deck the ground where thou art laid. 

When howling winds and beating rain. 

In tempests shake the sylvan cell ; 
Or 'midst the chase, on every plain, 
20 The tender thought on thee shall dwell; 

Each lonely scene shall thee restore; 

For thee the tear be duly shed; 
Beloved till life can charm no more. 

And mourned till pity's self be dead. 



XTbomas (5ra^ 

1716-1771 
ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON 
COLLEGE 

(1747) 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers. 

That crown the watry glade, 
Where grateful Science still adores 

Her Heney's holy Shade ; 
6 And ye, that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below 

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, 
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among 
Wanders the hoary Thames along 
10 His silver-winding way: 



THOMAS GRAY 215 

Ah, happy hills, ah, pleasing shade, 

Ah, fields belov'd in vain. 
Where once my careless childhood stray'd, 

A stranger yet to pain! 
15 I feel the gales, that from ye blow, 
A momentary bliss bestow, 

As waving fresh their gladsome wing. 
My weary soul they seem to soothe. 
And, redolent of joy and youth, 
20 To breathe a second spring. 

Say, father Thames, for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race 
Disporting on thy margent green 

The paths of pleasure trace, 
25 Who foremost now delight to cleave 
With pliant arm thy glassy wave? 

The captive linnet which enthral ? 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed, 
30 Or urge the flying ball? 

While some on earnest business bent 

Their murm'ring labours ply 
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint. 
To sweeten liberty: 
35 Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their little reign. 

And unknown regions dare descry: 
Still as they run they look behind. 
They hear a voice in every wind, 
40 And snatch a fearful joy. 

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed. 

Less pleasing when possest; 
The tear forgot as soon as shed. 

The sunshine of the breast: 



216 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

45 Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, 
Wild wit, invention ever-new. 

And lively chear of vigour born; 
The thoughtless day, the easy night. 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light, 

50 That fly th' approach of morn. 

Alas, regardless of their doom 

The little victims play! 
No sense have they of ills to come, 

Nor care beyond to-day : 
55 Yet see how all around 'em wait 
The Ministers of human fate. 

And black Misfortune's baleful train! 
Ah, show them where in ambush stand 
To seize their prey the murth'rous band! 
60 Ah, tell them, they are men! 

These shall the fury Passions tear. 

The vulturs of the mind. 
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, 
And Shame that sculks behind; 
65 Or pineing Love shall waste their youth, 
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth, 

That inly gnaws the secret heart. 
And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair, 
70 And Sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise. 
Then whirl the wretch from high. 

To bitter Scorn a sacrifice. 
And grinning Infamy. 
75 The stings of Falsehood those shall try. 

And hard Unkind ness' alter'd eye. 

That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; 

And keen Remorse with blood defil'd. 



THOMAS GRAY 21^ 

And moody Madness laughing wild 
80 Amid severest woe. 

Lo, in the vale of years beneath 

A griesly troop are seen, 
The painful family of Death, 

More hideous than their Queen : 

85 This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 

That every labouring sinew strains. 

Those in the deeper vitals rage: 
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band. 
That numbs the soul with icy hand, 
90 And slow-consuming Age. 

To each his sufferings : all are men, 

Condemn'd alike to groan. 
The tender for another's pain; 

Th' unfeeling for his own. 
95 Yet, ah! why should they know their fate? 
Since sorrow never comes too late. 

And happiness too swiftly flies, 
Thought would destroy their paradise. 
No more; where ignorance is bliss, 
100 'Tis folly to be wise. 

SLEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

(1751) 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day. 
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea. 

The plowman homeward plods his weary way. 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

5 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the 
sight. 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds. 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight. 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: 



218 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
10 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering 
heap, 
15 Each in his narrow cell forever laid 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, 
The swallow twittering from the straw-built 
shed, 
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
20 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care : 

'No children run to lisp their sire's return. 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

25 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield. 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke : 
How jocund did they drive their team afield! 
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy 
stroke ! 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
30 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
35 Await alike th' inevitable hour. 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 



THOMAS GRAY 219 

ISTor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault. 

If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise. 
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted 
vault 
40 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust. 

Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death? 

45 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 
Hands, that the rod of empire might have 
sway'd. 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page 
50 Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; 
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage. 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
The dark unf athom'd caves of ocean bear : 
55 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless 
breast 

The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest. 

Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 

Th' applause of list'ning senates to command. 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. 
And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, 



60 



220 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

65 Their lot forbad: nor circumscrib'd alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes con- 
fin'd; 
Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
70 To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. 
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; 
75 Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture 
deck'd, 
80 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd 
muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply: 
And many a holy text around she strews. 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

85 For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 

This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd. 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing ling' ring look behind? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
90 Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries. 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 



THOMAS GRAY 221 

For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; 
95 If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,— 

Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say, 

" Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away 
100 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

" There at the foot of yonder nodding beech. 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch,' 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

105 " Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 

Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, 
Now drooping, woful-wan; like one forlorn. 
Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 

" One morn I missed him on the custom'd hill, 
110 Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree;' 
Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : 

"The next, with dirges due in sad array 

Slow through the church-way path we saw him 
borne : 
115 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay. 
Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE EPITAPH 

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth 

A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown ; 
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, 
120 And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 



222 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: 

He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear. 

He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a 
friend. 



125 JSTo farther seek his merits to disclose. 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 



THE BARD 

(From Odes, 1757) 

I. 1. 

"Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! 
Confusion on thy banners wait, 
Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing 
They mock the air with idle state. 
5 Helm, nor Hauberk's twisted mail, 

Nor even thy virtues. Tyrant, shall avail 

To save thy secret soul from nightly fears. 
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's 
tears ! " 
Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride 
10 Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay. 

As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side 

He wound with toilsome march his long 
array. 
Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance: 
" To arms ! " cried Mortimer, and couch'd his 
quiv'ring lance. 



THOMAS GRAY 223 

I. 2. 

15 On a rock, whose haughty brow 

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 

Robed in the sable garb of woe, 
With haggard eyes the Poet stood; 
(Loose his beard, and hoary hair 
20 Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air,) 

And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire. 
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. 

" Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave. 
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! 
25 O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they 
wave. 
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs 
breathe ; 
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal' day, 
To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's 
lay." 

L 3. 

" Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, 
30 That hush'd the stormy main: 

Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: 
Mountains, ye mourn in vain 
Modred, whose magic song 
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head. 
35 On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, 

Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale: 
Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail; 

The famish'd Eagle screams, and passes by. 
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, 
40 Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes. 

Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart. 

Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — 
'No more I weep. They do not sleep. 
On yonder cliffs, a griesly band. 



224 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

45 I see them sit, they linger yet, 

Avengers of their native land: 
With me in dreadful harmony they join, 
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy 
line." 

11. 1. 

'' Weave the warp, and weave the woof, 
50 The winding-sheet of Edward's race. 

Give ample room, and verge enough 
The characters of hell to trace. 
Mark the year, and mark the night. 
When Severn shall re-echo with affright 
55 The shrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that 
ring, 
Shrieks of an agonizing King! 

She- Wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs. 
That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled Mate, 
From thee be born, who o'er thy country 
hangs 
60 The scourge of Heav'n. What Terrors round 
him wait! 
Amazement in his van, with Flight combined. 
And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind." 

II. 2. 

" Mighty Victor, mighty Lord ! 
Low on his funeral couch he lies! 
65 No pitying heart, no eye, afford 

A tear to grace his obsequies. 

Is the sable Warriour fled? 
Thy son is gone. He rests among the Dead. 
The Swarm, that in thy noontide beam were 
born? 
70 Gone to salute the rising Morn. 

Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows, 
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm 



THOMAS GRAY 225 

In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes; 

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the 
helm; 
75 Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, 
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his even- 
ing prey." 

11. 3. 

" Fill high the sparkling bowl, 
The rich repast prepare, 

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : 
80 Close by the regal chair 

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl 
A baleful smile upon their baffled Guest. 
Heard ye the din of battle bray. 

Lance to lance, and horse to horse? 
85 Long years of havoc urge • their destined 

course. 
And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way. 
Ye Towers of Julius, London's lasting 
shame, 
With many a foul and midnight murther fed. 
Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's 
fame, 
90 And spare the meek Usurper's holy head. 
Above, below, the rose of snow. 

Twined with her blushing foe, we spread: 
The bristled Boar in infant gorp 

Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 
95 Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom 
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his 
doom.'* 

III. 1. 

"Edward, lo! to sudden fate 
(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) 
Half of thy heart we consecrate. 



226 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

100 (The web is wove. The work is done.) 
Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn 
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: 
In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, 
They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 
105 But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height 
Descending slow their glitt'ring skirts un- 
roll? 
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, 

Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my soul! 
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail. 
110 All hail, ye genuine Kings, Britannia's Issue, 
hail!" 

III. 2. 

" Girt with many a Baron hold 
Sublime their starry fronts they rear; 
And gorgeous Dames, and Statesmen old 
In bearded majesty, appear. 
115 In the midst a Form divine ! 

Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line; 
Her lyon-port, her awe-commanding face, 
Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. 
What strings symphonious tremble in the air, 
120 What strains of vocal transport round her 

play. 
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; 

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. 
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, 
Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour'd 
wings." 

III. 3. 

125 '° The verse adorn again 

Fierce War, and faithful Love, 
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. 
In buskin'd measures move 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 227 

Pale Grief, and Pleasing Pain, 
130 With Horrour, Tyrant of the throbbing breast. 
A Voice, as of the Cherub-Choir, 
Gales from blooming Eden bear; 
And distant warblings lessen on my ear. 
That lost in long futurity expire. 
135 Fond impious Man, think'st thou, yon sanguine 
cloud, 
Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the Orb 
of day? 
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood. 

And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 
Enough for me: With joy I see 
140 The different doom our Fates assign. 

Be thine Despair, and sceptr'd Care, 
To triumph, and to die, are mine." 
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's 

height 
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless 
night. 



Qiivcv (Bolbsmitb 

1728-1774 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

(1770) 

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain. 
Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring 

swain. 
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 
And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd: 
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, 
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green. 
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! 



228 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

How often have I paus'd on every charm, 

10 The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm. 
The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 
The decent church that topt the neighbouring 

hill, 
The hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade, 
For talking age and whispering lovers made! 

15 How often have I blest the coming day 
When toil remitting lent its turn to play. 
And all the village train from labour free. 
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; 
While many a pastime circled in the shade, 

20 The young contending as the old survey'd. 
And many a gambol f rolick'd o'er the ground. 
And sleights of art and feats of strength went 

round ! 
And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd, 
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd; 

25 The dancing pair that simply sought renown 
By holding out to tire each other down. 
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face. 
While secret laughter titter'd round the place. 
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, 

30 The matron's glance that would those looks 
reprove. 
These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like 

these, 
With sweet succession, taught even toil to please ; 
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence 

shed; 
These were thy charms — but all these charms are 
fled. 

35 Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms with- 
drawn; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green: 




OLIVER GOLDSMITH 229 

One only master grasps the whole domain, 

40 And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
But chok'd with sedges, works its weedy way; 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest. 
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; 

45 Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies. 
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries : 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. 
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, 

50 Far, far away thy children leave the land. 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
Where wealth accumulates and men decay; 
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fcde — 
A breath can make them, as a breath hao made — 

55 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
When once destroy'd, can never be supplied. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, 
When every rood of ground maintain'd its man : 
For him light labour spread her wholesome store, 

60 Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more; 
His best companions, innocence and health. 
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 

But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train 
Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain: 

65 Along the lawn where scatter'd hamlets rose, 
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose. 
And every want to opulence allied. 
And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 

70 Those calm desires that ask'd but little room, 
Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful 

scene, 
Liv'd in each look and brighten'd all the green — 
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore. 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 



230 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



75 Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds 
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruin'd grounds. 
And, many a year elaps'd, return to view 

80 Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn 

grew. 

Remembrance wakes with all her busy train. 

Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 

In all my wanderings round this world of care. 

In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 

85 I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown. 
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; 
To husband out life's taper at the close. 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose. 
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, 

90 Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill. 
Around my fire an evening group to draw. 
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; 
And as an hare whom hounds and horns pursue 
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, 

95 I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 
Here to return — and die at home at last. 

O blest retirement, friend to life's decline. 
Retreats from care, that never must be mine ! 
How happy he who crowns, in shades like these, 
100 A youth of labour with an age of ease; 

Who quits a world where strong temptations try. 
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! 
For him no wretches, born to work and weep. 
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; 
105 Nor surly porter stands, in guilty state, 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate; 
But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend. 
Bends to the grave with unperceiv'd decay, 
110 While resignation gently slopes the way, 



1 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 231 

And, all his prospects brightening to the last, 
His heaven commences ere the world be past. 
Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's 
close 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. 

115 There as I passed with careless steps and slow, 
The mingling notes came soften'd from below: 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, 
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young, 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 

120 The playful children just let loose from school. 
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering 

wind. 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind — 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, 
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made. 

125 But now the sounds of population fail, 

JSTo cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 
'No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread. 
For all the bloomy flush of life is fled — 
All but yon widow'd, solitary thing, 

130 That feebly bends beside the plashy spring; 

She, wretched matron — forc'd in age, for bread. 
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 
To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, 
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn — 

135 She only left of all the harmless train. 
The sad historian of the pensive plain ! 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden 
smil'd. 
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild, 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 

140 The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race. 
Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his 
place ; 



232 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

145 Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power 
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; 
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, 
More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train, 

150 He chid their wanderings, but reliev'd their pain ; 
The long-remember'd beggar was his guest. 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; 
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims al- 
lowed; 

155 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. 
Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away. 
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 
Shoulder'd his crutch and show'd how fields were 

won. 
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to 
glow, 

160 And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan. 
His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
And even his failings lean'd to virtue's side; 

165 But in his duty prompt at every call, 

He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all : 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies. 
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, 

170 Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismay'd, 
The reverend champion stood : at his control 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; 

175 Comfort came down the trembling wretch to 
raise. 
And his last faltering accents whisper'd- praise. 
At church, with meek and unaffected grace. 



OLIVEB GOLDSMITH 233 

His looks adorn'd the venerable place; 

Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, 
180 And fools who came to scoff remained to pray. 

The service past, around the pious man, 

With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran; 

Even children foUow'd, with endearing wile, 

And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's 
smile : 
185 His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest. 

Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares dis- 
trest. 

To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 

But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven : 

As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, 
190 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the 
storm. 

Though round its breast the rolling clouds are 
spread. 

Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 

With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, 
195 There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule. 

The village master taught his little school. 

A man severe he was, and stern to view; 

I knew him well, and every truant knew: 

Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace 
200- The day's disasters in his morning face ; 

Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee 

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; 

Full well the busy whisper, circling round, 

Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd; 
205 Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught. 

The love he bore to learning was in fault. 

The village all declar'd how much he knew; 

'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too. 

Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
210 And even the story ran that he could gauge. 



234 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

In arguing too the parson own'd his skill, 

For even though vanquish'd, he could argue still ; 

While words of learned length and thundering 
sound 

Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around; 
215 And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 
But past is all his fame : the very spot, 

Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. 

Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 
220 Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 

Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts 
inspir'd. 

Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil retir'd. 

Where village statesmen talkM with looks pro- 
found. 

And news much older than their ale went round. 
225 Imagination fondly stoops to trace 

The parlour splendours of that festive place : 

The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor. 

The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door; 

The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, 
230 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; 

The pictures plac'd for ornament and use. 

The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; 

The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day. 

With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay, 
235 While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, 

Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row. 
Vain transitory splendours! could not all 

Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall? 

Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
240 An hour's importance to the poor man's heart. 

Thither no more the peasant shall repair 

To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 

No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 

No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 235 

245 'No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, 
Kelax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear ; 
The host himself no longer shall be found 
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; 
Nov the coy maid, half willing to be prest, 

250 Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain. 
These simple blessings of the lowly train; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art; 

255 Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play. 

The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; 
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
TJnenvied, unmolested, unconfin'd. 
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 

260 With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, 
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; 
And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy,. 
The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy? 

265 Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey 
The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and a happy land. 
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 

270 And shouting Folly hails them from her shore; 
Hoards even beyond the miser's wish abound, 
And rich men flock from all the world around; 
Yet count our gains : this wealth is but a name 
That leaves our useful products still the same. 

275 a^ot so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 
Takes up a space that many poor supplied — 
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds. 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds : 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 

280 Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their 
growth ; 



236 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

His seat, where solitary spots are seen, 
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; 
Around the world each needful product flies. 
For all the luxuries the world supplies, 

285 While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure, all 
In barren splendour feebly waits the fall. 

As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, 
Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, 

290 Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 

But when those charms are past, for charms are 

frail. 
When time advances, and when lovers fail. 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless. 
In all the glaring impotence of dress: 

295 Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd; 
In nature's simplest charms at first array'd. 
But verging to decline, its splendours rise. 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; 
While, scourg'd by famine from the smiling land, 

300 The mournful peasant leads his humble band; 
And while he sinks, without one arm to save. 
The country blooms — a garden, and a grave. 

Where then, ah! where shall poverty reside. 
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? 

305 If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd 
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade. 
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, 
And even the bare-worn common is denied. 
If to the city sped — what waits him there? 

310 To see profusion that he must not share ; 
To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd 
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; 
To see each joy the sons of pleasure know. 
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 

315 Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, 
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 237 

Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps 

display, 
There, the black gibbet glooms beside the way. 
The dome where pleasure holds her midnight 
reign, 
320 Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train; 
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, 
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! 
Sure these denote one universal joy! 
325 Are these thy serious thoughts? Ah, turn thine 
eyes 
Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. 
She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest. 
Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; 
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 
330 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 
Now lost to all — her friends, her virtue fled— 
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, 
And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the 

shower, 
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour 
335 When idly first, ambitious of the town, 

She left her wheel, and robes of country brown. 
Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest 
train. 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? 
Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, 
340 At proud men's doors they ask a little bread. 
Ah, no! To distant climes, a dreary scene. 
Where half the convex world intrudes between. 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, 
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 
345 Far different there from all that charm'd before, 
The various terrors of that horrid shore: 
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 
And fiercely shed intolerable day; 



238 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, 
350 But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; 

Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance 
crown'd. 

Where the dark scorpion gathers death around; 

Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 

The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; 
355 Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 

And savage men more murderous still than they; 

While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, 

Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies. 

Far different these from every former scene, 
360 The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green. 

The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 

That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. 

Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloom'd that part- 
ing day. 

That call'd them from their native walks away; 
365 When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 

Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their 
last. 

And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain 

For seats like these beyond the western main; 

And shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
370 Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. 

The good old sire the first prepar'd to go 

To new-found worlds, and wept for other's woe; 

But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, 

He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave. 
375 His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 

The fond companion of his helpless years. 

Silent went next, neglectful of her charms. 

And left a lover's for a father's arms. 

With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 
380 And blest the cot where every pleasure rose, 

And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with m-any a 
tear. 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 239 

And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear; 

Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 

In all the silent manliness of grief. 
385 O Luxury! thou curst by Heaven's decree, 

How ill exchange'd are things like these for thee ! 

How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 

Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! 

Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, 
390 Boast of a florid vigour not their own : 

At every draught more large and large they grow, 

A bloated mass of rank, unwieldy woe; 

Till sapp'd their strength, and every part un- 
sound, 

Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 
395 Even now the devastation is begun, 

And half the business of destruction done; 

Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, 

I see the rural Virtues leave the land. 

Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the s nl 
400 That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 

Downward they move, a melancholy band. 

Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. 

Contented Toil, and hospitable Care, 

And kind connubial Tenderness are there; 
405 And Piety with wishes placed above. 

And steady Loyalty, and faithful Love. 

And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid. 

Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; 

Unfit in these degenerate times of shame 
410 To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame; 

Dear, charming nymph, neglected and decried. 

My shame in crowds, my solitary pride. 

Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe. 

Thou f ound'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ; 
415 Thou guide by which the noble arts excel. 

Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well! 

Farewell! and O where'er thy voice be tried, 



240 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

On Torno's cliffs or Pambamarca's side, 

Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, 
420 Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 

Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 

Redress the rigours of the inclement clime; 

Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain ; 

Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; 
425 Teach him, that states of native strength possest. 

Though very poor, may still be very blest; 

That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, 

As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away; 

While self-dependent power can time defy, 
430 As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 



XTbomas Cbatterton 

1753-1770 
MINSTREL'S ROUNDELAY 

(From Aella, 1770) 

O sing unto my roundelay, 

O drop the briny tear with me, 
Dance no more at holy-day. 
Like a running river be. 
5 My love is dead, 

Gone to his death-bed. 

All under the willcw-tree. 

Black his locks as the winter night 
White his skin as the summer snow, 
10 Red his face as the morning light. 
Cold he lies in the grave below. 
My love is dead. 
Gone to his death-bed. 
All under the willow-tree. 



25 



THOMAS CHATTEKTON 241 

15 Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note. 
Quick in dance as thought can be, 
Deft his tabor, cudgel stout, 
O he lies by the willow-tree! 
My love is dead, 
20 Gone to his death-bed. 

All under the willow-tree. 

Hark! the raven flaps his wing 

In the briar'd dell below; 
Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing 
To the nightmares as they go. 
My love is dead. 
Gone to his death-bed. 
All under the willow-tree. 

See! the white moon shines on high; 
30 Whiter is my true love's shroud; 
Whiter than the morning sky. 
Whiter than the evening cloud. 
My love is dead, 
Gone to his death-bed, 
35 All under the willow-tree. 

Here upon my true love's grave 

Shall the barren flowers be laid: 
'Not one holy Saint to save 
All the coldness of a maid! 
40 My love is dead. 

Gone to his death-bed. 
All under the willow-tree. 

With my hands I'll gird the briars 
Round his holy corse to grow. 
45 Elfin Faery, light your fires; 
Here my body still shall bow. 
My love is dead, 
Gone to his death-bed. 
All under the willow-tree. 



242 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

50 Come, with acorn-cup and thorn. 
Drain my hearte's blood away ; 
Life and all its good I scorn, 
Dance by night or feast by day. 
My love is dead, 
55 Gone to his death-bed. 

All under the willow-tree. 



THE BALADE OF CHARITIE 

(From Poems collected 1777) 

In Virgine the sultry Sun 'gan sheene 

And hot upon the meads did cast his ray: 
The apple ruddied from its paly green. 

And the soft pear did bend the leafy spray; 
5 The pied chelandry sang the livelong day : 
'Twas now the pride, the manhood of the year. 
And eke the ground was dight in its most deft 
aumere. 

The sun was gleaming in the mid of day, 
Dead still the air and eke the welkin blue, 
10 When from the sea arist in drear array 
A heap of clouds of sable sullen hue. 
The which full fast unto the woodland drew. 
Hiding at once the sunne's festive face; 
And the black tempest swelled and gathered up 
apace. 

15 Beneath an holm, fast by a pathway side 

Which did unto Saint Godwyn's convent lead, 
A hapless pilgrim moaning did abide. 
Poor in his view, ungentle in his weed. 
Long breast-full of the miseries of need. 
20 Where from the hailstorm could the beggar fly ? 
He had no housen there, nor any convent nigh. 



THOMAS CHATTERTON 243 

Look in his gloomed face; his sprite there scan, 

How woe-begone, how withered, sapless, dead! 
Haste to thy church-glebe-house, accursed man, 
25 Haste to thy coffin, thy sole slumbering-bed ! 
Cold as the clay which will grow on thy head 
Are Charity and Love among high elves; 
The Knights and Barons live for pleasure and 
themselves. 

The gathered storm is ripe ; the big drops fall ; 
30 The sunburnt meadows smoke and drink the 
rain; 
The coming ghastness dothe the cattle appal. 
And the full flocks are driving o'er the plain; 
Dashed from the clouds, the waters gush 
again; 
The welkin opes, the yellow levin flies, 
35 And the hot fiery steam in the wide flame-lowe 
dies. 

List! now the thunder's rattling clamouring 
sound 
Moves slowly on, and then upswollen clangs. 
Shakes the high spire, and lost, dispended, 
drown'd. 
Still on the affrighted ear of terror hangs; 
40 The winds are up ; the lofty elm-tree swangs ; 
Again the levin and the thunder pours, 
And the full clouds are burst at once in stormy 
showers. 

Spurring his palfrey o'er the watery plain. 
The Abbot of Saint Godwyn's convent came; 
45 His chapournette was drenched with the rain. 
His painted girdle met with mickle shame; 
He backwards told his bederoll at the same. 



244 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

The storm increased, and he drew aside, 
With the poor abns-craver near to the holm to 
bide. 

50 His cope was all of Lincoln cloth so fine, 

With a gold button fastened near his chin; 
His autremete was edged with golden twine, 
And his peaked shoe a lordling's might have 

been; 
Full well it showed he counted cost no sin : 
55 The trammels of the palfrey pleased his sight, 
For the horse-milliner his head with roses dight. 

" An alms. Sir Priest ! " the drooping pilgrim 
said, 
" O let me wait within your convent-door 
Till the sun shineth high above our head 
60 And the loud temj^est of the air is o'er. 
Helpless and old am I, alas! and poor: 
No house, nor friend, no money in my pouch; 
All that I call my own is this my silver crouch." 

" Varlet," replied the Abbot, " cease your din ; 
65 This is no season alms and prayers to give ; 
My porter never lets a beggar in ; 

None touch my ring who not in honour live." 
And now the sun with the black clouds did 
strive, 
And shot upon the ground his glaring ray : 
70 The Abbot spurred his steed, and eftsoons rode 
away. 

Once more the sky was black, the thunder roll'd: 
Fast running o'er the plain a priest was seen. 
Not dight full proud nor buttoned up in gold ; 
His cope and jape were grey, and eke were 
clean ; 
75 A Limitour he was, of order seen; 



WILLIAM COWPER 246 

And from the pathway side then turned he, 
Where the poor beggar lay beneath the holmen 
tree. 

"An alms, Sir Priest," the drooping pilgrim 
said, 
"For sweet Saint Mary and your order's 
sake ! " 
80 The Limitour then loosened his pouch-thread 
And did thereout a groat of silver take; 
The needy pilgrim did for gladness shake. 
" Here, take this silver, it may ease thy care ; 
We are God's stewards all,— nought of our own 
we bear. 

85 " But ah ! unhappy pilgrim, learn of me. 

Scarce any give a rentroll to their Lord : 
Here, take my semicope,— thou'rt bare, I see; 
'Tis thine; the Saints will give me my re- 
ward ! " 
He left the pilgrim and his way aborde. 
90 Virgin and holy Saints who sit in gloure. 

Or give the mighty will, or give the good man 
power. 



Mtlltam Cowper 

1731-1800 

THE TASK 

(1785) 
(Selections from The Sofa. Book I ) 

But though true worth and virtue, in the mild 
And genial soil of cultivated life, 
680 Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, 
Yet not in cities oft : in proud and gay 



246 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow. 
As to a common and most noisome sewer, 
The dregs and feculence of every land. 

685 In cities foul example on most minds 

Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds 
In gross and pampered cities sloth and lust, 
And wantonness and gluttonous excess. 
In cities vice is hidden with most ease, 

690 Or seen with least reproach; and virtue, taught 
By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there 
Beyond the achievement of successful flight. 
I do confess them nurseries of the arts. 
In which they flourish most; where, in the beams 

695 Of warm encouragement, and in the eye 

Of public note, they reach their perfect size. 
Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaimed 
The fairest capital of all the world. 
By riot and incontinence the worst. 

700 There, touched by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes 
A lucid mirror, in which l^ature sees 
All her reflected features. Bacon there 
Gives more than female beauty to a stone. 
And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. 

705 Nor does the chisel occupy alone 

The powers of sculpture, but the style as much ; 
Each province of her art her equal care. 
With nice incision of her guided steel 
She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil 

710 So sterile, with what charms soe'er she will. 
The richest scenery and the loveliest forms. 
Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye, * 
With which she gazes at yon burning disk 
Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots? 

715 In London. Where her implements exact. 

With which she calculates, computes, and scans 
All distance, motion, magnitude, and now 
Measures an atom, and now girds a world? 



I 



WILLIAM COWPER M 

In London. Where has commerce such a mart, 

720 So rich, so thronged, so drained, and so supplied. 
As London, opulent, enlarged, and still 
Increasing London? Babylon of old 
Not more the glory of the earth than she, 
A more accomplished world's chief glory now. 

725 She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two 
That so much beauty would do well to purge; 
And show this queen of cities, that so fair 
May yet be foul, so witty yet not wise. 
It is not seemly, nor of good report, 

730 That she is slack in discipline ; more prompt 
To avenge than to prevent the breach of law; 
That she is rigid in denouncing death 
On petty robbers, and indulges life 
And liberty, and oftimes honour too, 

735 To peculators of the public gold; 

That thieves at home must hang, but he that puts 
Into his overgorged and bloated purse 
The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes. 
Nor is it well, nor can it come to good, 

740 That, through profane and infidel contempt 
Of Holy Writ, she has presumed to annul 
And abrogate, as roundly as she may. 
The total ordinance and will of God; 
Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth, 

745 And centering all authority in modes 
And customs of her own, till Sabbath rites 
Have dwindled into- unrespected forms, 
And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorced. 
God made the country, and man made the 
town : 

750 What wonder then, that health and virtue, gifts 
That can alone make sweet the bitter draught 
That life holds out to all, should most abound 
And least be threatened in the fields and groves ? 
Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about 



248 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

755 In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue 
But that of idleness, and taste no scenes 
But such as art contrives, possess ye still 
Your element ; there only ye can shine, 
There only minds like yours can do no harm. 

760 Our groves were planted to console at noon 
The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve 
The moonbeam, sliding softly in between 
The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish. 
Birds warbling all the music. We can spare 

765 The splendour of your lamps, they but eclipse 
Our softer satellite. Your songs confound 
Our more harmonious notes : the thrush departs 
Scared, and the offended nightingale is mute. 
There is a public mischief in your mirth, 

770 It plagues your country. Folly such as yours 
Graced with a sword, and worthier of a fan. 
Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done. 
Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, 
A mutilated structure, soon to fall. 



BOOK II. — THE TIME-PIECE 

Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 
Some boundless contiguity of shade. 
Where rumour of oppression and deceit, 
Of unsuccessful or successful war, 
5 Might never reach me more ! My ear is pained. 
My soul is sick with every day's report 
Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled. 
There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart. 
It does not feel for man; the natural bond 
10 Of brotherhood is severed as the flax 
That falls asunder at the touch of fire. 
He finds his fellow guilty of a skin 
Not coloured like his own, and having power 
To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause 



WILLIAM COWPER 249 

15 Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. 
Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
Abhor each other. Mountains interposed 
Make enemies of nations who had else 
Like kindred drops been mingled into one. 

20 Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; 
And worse than all, and most to be deplored, 
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, 
Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat 
With stripes that Mercy, with a bleeding heart, 

25 Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. 

Then what is man? And what man seeing this, 
And having human feelings, does not blush 
And hang his head, to think himself a man? 
I would not have a slave to till my ground, 

30 To carry me, to fan me while I sleep. 

And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 
That sinews bought and sold have ever earned. 
No : dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 
Just estimation prized above all price, 

35 I had much rather be myself the slave 

And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 
We have no slaves at home. — Then why abroad? 
And they themselves once ferried o'er the wave 
That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. 

40 Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs 
Receive our air, that moment they are free; 
They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, 

45 And let it circulate through every vein 

Of all your empire ; that where Britain's power 
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. 

BOOK III. — THE C4AT?DEN 

I was a stricken deer that left the herd 
Long since ; with many an arrow deep infixed 



250 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

110 My panting side was charged, when I withdrew 
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 
There was I found by One who had Himself 
Been hurt by the archers. In His side He bore, 
And in His hands and feet, the cruel scars. 

115 With gentle force soliciting the darts, 

He drew them forth, and healed, and bade me live. 
SiAce then, with few associates, in remote 
And silent woods I wander, far from those 
My former partners of the peopled scene; 

120 With few associates, and not wishing more. 
Here much I ruminate, as much I may. 
With other views of men and manners now 
Than once, and others of a life to come. 



BOOK IV. — THE winter's EVENING 

Hark! 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder 

bridge. 
That with its wearisome but needful length 
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon 
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright, 
5 He comes, the herald of a noisy world. 

With spattered boots, strapped waist, and frozen 

locks, 
!N'ews from all nations lumbering at his back. 
True to his charge, the close-packed load behind. 
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern 

10 Is to conduct it to the destined inn, 

And having dropped the expected bag — pass on. 
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, 
Cold and yet cheerful : messenger of grief 
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some, 

15 To him indifferent whether grief or joy. 
Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks. 
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 



WILLIAM COWPER 251 

With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks 
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, 

20 Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains. 
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect 
His horse and him, unconscious of them all. 
But oh the important budget! ushered in 
With such heart-shaking music, who can say 

25 What are its tidings? have our troops awaked? 
Or do they still, as if with opium drugged, 
Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave? 
Is India free? and does she wear her plumed 
And jewelled turban with a smile of peace, 

30 Or do we grind her still? The grand debate, 
The popular harangue, the tart reply. 
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, 
And the loud laugh — I long to know them all; 
I burn to set the imprisoned wranglers free, 

35 And give them voice and utterance once again. 
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast. 
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round. 
And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn 
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups 

40 That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each. 
So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 



120 Oh Winter! ruler of the inverted year. 
Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes filled. 
Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
Fringed with a beard made white with other 

snows 
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, 

125 A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels. 
But urged by storms along its slippery way; 
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seemest,- 
And dreaded as thou art. Thou holdest the sun 



252 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

130 A prisoner in the yet undawning east, 

Shortening his journey between morn and noon, 
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still 
Compensating his loss with added hours 

135 Of social converse and instructive ease. 

And gathering, at short notice, in one group 
The family dispersed, and fixing thought, 
Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. 
I crown thee King of intimate delights, 

140 Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness. 
And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
Of undisturbed retirement, and the hours 
Of long uninterrupted evening know. 



Come, Evening, once again, season of peace; 
Return, sweet Evening, and continue long! 

245 Methinks I see thee in the streaky west. 

With matron step slow moving, while the Night 
Treads on thy sweeping train ; one hand employed 
In letting fall the curtain of repose 
On bird and beast, the other charged for man 

250 With sweet oblivion of the cares of day; 
Not sumptuously adorned, nor needing aid. 
Like homely-featured Night, of clustering gems; 
A star or two just twinkling on thy brow 
Suffices thee; save that the moon is thine 

255 No less than hers, not worn indeed on high 
With ostentatious pageantry, but set 
With modest grandeur in thy purple zone. 
Resplendent less, but of an ample round. 
Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm, 

260 Or make me so. Composure is thy gift: 
And whether I devote thy gentler hours 
To books, to music, or the poet's toil; 
To weaving nets for bird-alluring fruit; 



WILLIAM COWPER 253 

Or twining silken threads round ivory reels, 
265 When they command whom man was born to 
please : 
I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. 



In such a world, so thorny, and where none 
Finds happiness unblighted, or, if found, 
335 Without some thistly sorrow at its side. 
It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin 
Against the law of love, to measure lots 
With less distinguished than ourselves, that thus 
We may with patience bear our moderate ills, 
340 And sympathize with others, suffering more. 
Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks 
In ponderous boots beside his reeking team. 
The wain goes heavily, impeded sore 
By congregated loads adhering close 
345 To the clogged wheels ; and in its sluggish pace 
Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. 
The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide. 
While every breath, by respiration strong 
Forced downward, is consolidated soon 
350 Upon their jutting chests. He, formed to bear 
The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, 
With half-shut eyes and puckered cheeks, and 

teeth 
Presented bare against the storm, plods on. 
One hand secures his hat, save when with both 
355 He brandishes his pliant length of whip, 
Eesounding oft, and never heard in vain. 
Oh happy! and in my account, denied 
The sensibility of pain with which 
Refinement is endued, thrice happy thou. 
360 Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed 
The piercing cold, but feels it unimpaired. 
The learned finger never need explore 



254 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Thy vigorous pulse; and the unhealthful east, 
That breathes the spleen, and searches every bone 

365 Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. 

Thy days roll on exempt from household care; 
Thy waggon is thy wife; and the poor beasts, 
That drag the dull companion to and fro, 
Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care. 

370 Ah, treat them kindly! rude as thou appearest. 
Yet show that thou hast mercy, which the great. 
With needless hurry whirled from place to place. 
Humane as they would seem, not always show. 
Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, 

375 Such claim compassion in a night like this. 
And have a friend in every feeling heart. 

BOOK VI. — THE WINTER WALK AT NOON 

The night was winter in his roughest mood. 
The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon, 
Upon the southern side of the slant hills, 

60 And where the woods fence off the northern blast. 
The season smiles, resigning all its rage. 
And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue 
Without a cloud, and white without a speck 
The dazzling splendour of the scene below. 

65 Again the harmony comes o'er the vale, 

And through the trees I view the embattled 

tower 
Whence all the music. I again perceive 
The soothing influence of the wafted strains. 
And settle in soft musings as I tread 

70 The walk, still verdant, under oaks and elms. 
Whose outspread branches overarch the glade. 
The roof, though moveable through all its length 
As the wind sways it, has yet well sufficed. 
And intercepting in their silent fall 

75 The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. 



WILLIAM COWPER 255 

No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. 
The redbreast warbles still, but is content 
With slender notes, and more than half sup- 
pressed : 
Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light 

80 From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes 
From many a twig the pendant drops of ice. 
That tinkle in the withered leaves below. 
Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft. 
Charms more than silence. Meditation here 

85 May think down hours to moments. Here the 
heart 
May give a useful lesson to the head, 
And learning wiser grow without his books. 
Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, 
Have oftimes no connection. Knowledge dwells 

90 In heads replete with thoughts of other men, 
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. 
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, 
The mere materials with which wisdom builds, 
Till smoothed and squared and fitted to its place, 

95 Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. 
Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much ; 
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 

560 I would not enter on my list of friends 

(Though graced with polished manners and fine 

sense, 
Yet wanting sensibility) the man 
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
An inadvertent step may crush the snail 

565 That crawls at evening in the public path; 
But he that has humanity, forewarned, 
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 
The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, 
And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, 

570 A visitor unwelcome, into scenes 



256 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, 

The chamber, or refectory, may die: 

A necessary act incurs no blame. 

Not so when, held within their proper bounds, 

575 And guiltless of offence, they range the air. 
Or take their pastime in the spacious field : 
There they are privileged : and he that hunts 
Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong. 
Disturbs the economy of nature's realm, 

580 Who, when she formed, designed them an abode. 
The sum is this : if man's convenience, health, 
Or safety interfere, his rights and claims 
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 
Else they are all — the meanest things that are — 

585 As free to live, and to enjoy that life, 
As God was free to form them at the first. 
Who in His sovereign wisdom made them all. 
Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons 
To love it too. The spring-time of our years 

590 Is soon dishonoured and defiled in most 
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand 
To check them. But, alas ! none sooner shoots, 
If unrestrained, into luxuriant growth. 
Than cruelty, most devilish of them all. 

595 Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule 
And righteous limitation of its act. 
By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty 

man. 
And he that shows none, being ripe in years, 
And conscious of the outrage he commits, 

600 Shall seek it and not find it in his turn. 

Distinguished much by reason, and still more 
By our capacity of grace divine, 
From creatures that exist but for our sake. 
Which, having served us, perish, we are held 

605 Accountable, and God, some future day, 
Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse 



WILLIAM COWPEE 257 

Of what He deems no mean or trivial trust. 

Superior as we are, they yet depend 

Not more on human help than we on theirs. 

610 Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given 
In aid of our defects. In some are found 
Such teachable and apprehensive parts, 
That man's attainments in his own concerns. 
Matched with the expertness of the brutes in 
theirs, 

615 Are oftimes vanquished and thrown far behind. 



IN THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE 
OUT OF NORFOLK 

{Cir. 1790) 

THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN, ANN BODHAM 

O That those lips had language ! Life ha.s passed 
With me but roughly since I heard thee last. 
Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, 
The same that oft in childhood solaced me; 
5 Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 
" Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away ! " 
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes 
(Blessed be the art that can immortalize, 
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim 

10 To quench it) here shines on me still the same. 
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 
O welcome guest, though unexpected here! 
Who bidst me honour with an artless song, 
Affectionate, a mother lost so long, 

15 I will obey, not willingly alone, 

But gladly, as the precept were her own: 
And, while that face renews my filial grief. 
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, 
Shall steep me in Elysian revery, 

20 A momentary dream, that thou art she. 



258 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

My mother ! when I learnt that thou wast dead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son. 
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? 

25 Perhaps thou gavest me, though unf elt, a kiss : 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers — ^Yes. 
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, 
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, 

30 And, turning from my nursery window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! 
But was it such? It was. — Where thou art gone 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 

35 The parting word shall pass my lips no more! 
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern. 
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 
What ardently I wished I long believed. 
And, disappointed still, was still deceived. 

40 By expectation every day beguiled. 
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 
I learnt at last submission to my lot ; 

45 But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no 
more. 
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor; 
And where the gardener Robin, day by day. 
Drew me to school along the public way, 

50 Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped 
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped, 
'Tis now become a history little known. 
That once we called the pastoral house our own. 
Short-lived possession! But the record fair 

55 That memory keeps, of all thy kindness there, 
Still outlives many a storm that has effaced 



WILLIAM COWPER 259 

A thousand other themes less deeply traced. 
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, 
That thou mightst know me safe and warmly 
laid; 
60 Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, 
The biscuit, or confectionery plum; 
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed 
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and 

glowed ; 
All this, and more endearing still than all, 
65 Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, 
Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks 
That humour interposed too often makes; 
All this still legible in memory's page, 
And still to be so to my latest age, 
70 Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
Such honours to thee as my numbers may; 
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, 
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here. 
Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the 
hours, 
75 When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flow- 
ers. 
The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 
I pricked them into paper with a pin, 
(And thou wast happier than myself the while, 
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and 
smile.) 
80 Could those few pleasant days again appear. 
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them 

here ? 
I would not trust my heart — the dear delight 
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. — 
But no — what here we call our life is such, 
85 So little to be loved, and thou so much. 
That I should ill requite thee to constrain 
Thy unbounded spirit into bonds again. 



260 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast 
(The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed) 
90 Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle, 

Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, 
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 
Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 
While airs impregnated with incense play- 
OS Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; 
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the 

shore, 
" Where tempests never beat nor billows roar," 
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 
Of life long since has anchored by thy side. 

100 But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest. 

Always from port withheld, always distressed — 
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tosst. 
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass 

lost. 
And day by day some current's thwarting force 

105 Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 
Yet, Oh, the thought that thou art safe, and he ! 
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth; 

110 But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
The son of parents passed into the skies! 
And now, farewell — Time unrevoked has run 
His wonted course, yet what I wished is done. 
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 

115 I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; 
To have renewed the joys that once were mine. 
Without the sin of violating thine: 
And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, 
And I can view this mimic show of thee, 

120 Time has but half succeeded in his theft — 

Thy self removed, thy power to soothe me left. 



WILLIAM COWPEB 261 



ON THE LOSS OF THE "ROYAL GEORGE" 

WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED, SEPTEMBER, 1782, TO 
THE MARCH IN " SCIPIO " 

Toll for the brave ! 
The brave that are no more! 
All sunk beneath the wave, 
Fast by their native shore! 

6 Eight hundred of the brave, 
Whose courage well was tried. 
Had made the vessel heel, 
And laid her on her side. 

A land-breeze shook the shrouds, 
10 And she was over set; 

Down went the Royal George, 
With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave! 
Brave Kempenfelt is gone; 
15 His last sea-fight is fought; 
His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle; 
JSTo tempest gave the shock; 
She sprang no fatal leak ; 
20 She ran upon no rock. 

His sword was in its sheath; 
His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down 
With twice four hundred men. 

25 Weigh the vessel up, 

Once dreaded by our foes! 
And mingle with our cup 
The tear that England owes. 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Her timbers yet are sound, 
30 And she may float again 

Full-charged with England's thunder. 
And plough the distant main. 

But Kempenfelt is gone. 
His victories are o'er; 
35 And he and his eight hundred 
Shall plough the wave no more. 



THE CAST-AWAY 
(March 20, 1799) 

Obscurest night involved the sky. 
The Atlantic billows roared, 
When such a destined wretch as I, 
Washed headlong from on board, 
5 Of friends, of hope, of all bereft. 
His floating home forever left. 

No braver chief could Albion boast 
Than he with whom he went, 
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 
10 With warmer wishes sent. 

He loved them both, but both in vain, 
Nor him beheld, nor her again. 

Not long beneath the whelming brine, 
Expert to swim, he lay; 
15 Nor soon he felt his strength decline. 
Or courage die away; 
But waged with death a lasting strife. 
Supported by despair of life. 

He shouted: nor his friends had failed 
20 To check the vessel's course, 

But so the furious blast prevailed. 



WILLIAM COWPEE 263 

That, pitiless perforce. 

They left their outcast mate behind, 

And scudded still before the wind. 

25 Some succor yet they could afford; 

And such as storms allow, 

The cask, the coop, the floated cord. 

Delayed not to bestow. 

But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, 
30 What e'er they gave, should visit more. 

Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he 
Their haste himself condemn. 
Aware that flight, in such a sea. 
Alone could rescue them; 
35 Yet bitter felt it still to die 

Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 

He long survives, who lives an hour 
In ocean, self -upheld: 
And so long he, with unspent power, 
40 His destiny repelled; 

And ever, as the minutes flew. 
Entreated help, or cried — " Adieu ! " 

At length, his transient respite past. 
His comrades, who before 
45 Had heard his voice in every blast. 
Could catch the sound no more: 
For then, by toil subdued, he drank 
The stifling wave, and then he sank. 

No poet wept him ; but the page 
50 Of narrative sincere. 

That tells his name, his worth, his age, 
Is wet with Anson's tear : 
And tears by bards or heroes shed 
Alike immortalize the dead. 



264 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

55 I therefore purpose not, or dream, 
Descanting on his fate, 
To give the melancholy theme 
A more enduring date: 
But misery still delights to trace 

60 Its semblance in another's case. 

No voice divine the storm allayed, 
No light propitious shone. 
When, snatched from all effectual aid. 
We perished, each alone: 
65 But I beneath a rougher sea. 

And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he. 



mmtam Blafte 

1757-1837 

TO THE MUSES 

(From Poetical Sketches, 1783) 

Whether on Ida's shady brow. 
Or in the chambers of the East, 
The chambers of the sun that now 
From ancient melody have ceased; 

5 Whether in Heaven ye wander fair. 
Or the green corners of the earth. 
Or the blue regions of the air, 
Where the melodious winds have birth 

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove 
10 Beneath the bosom of the sea, 
Wandering in many a coral grove; 
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry; 



WILLIAM BLAKE 265 

How have you left the ancient love 
That bards of old enjoy'd in you! 
15 The languid strings do scarcely move, 
The sound is forced, the notes are few. 

TO THE EVENING STAR 
(From the same) 

Thou fair-haired angel of the evening, 
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountain, light 
Thy brilliant torch of love ; thy radiant crown 
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed ! 
5 Smile on our loves; and whilst thou drawest 
round 
The curtains of the sky, scatter thy dew 
On every flower that closes its sweet eyes 
In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on 
The lake ; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes, 
10 And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon 
Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide. 
And then the lion glares through the dun forest. 
The fleeces of our flocks are covered with 
Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine in- 
fluence. 

INTRODUCTION 

(From Songs of Innocence, 1787) 

Piping down the valleys wild, 
Piping songs of pleasant glee, 
On a cloud I saw a child. 
And he, laughing, said to me: 

5 ^ Pipe a song about a Lamb ! * 
So I piped with merry cheer. 
* Piper, pipe that song again ; ' 
So I piped: he wept to hear. 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

* Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe ; 
10 Sing thy songs of happy cheer ! ' 
So I sang the same again, 
While he wept with joy to hear. 

' Piper, sit thee down and write 
In a book, that all may read/ 
15 So he vanish'd from my sight; 
And I plucked a hollow reed, 

And I made a rural pen. 
And I stain'd the water clear. 
And I wrote my happy songs 
20 Every child may Joy to hear. 



THE LAMB 

(From the same) 

Little lamb, who made thee? 

Dost thou know who made thee? 
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed 
By the Stream and o'er the mead; 
5 Gave thee clothing of delight. 
Softest clothing, woolly, bright; 
Gave thee such a tender voice, 
Making all the vales rejoice? 

Little lamb, who made thee? 
10 Dost thou know who made thee? 

Little lamb, I'll tell thee; 

Little lamb, I'll tell thee: 
He is called by thy name. 
For He calls Himself a Lamb. 
15 He is meek, and He is mild, 
He became a little child. 



WILLIAM BLAKE 26*7 

I a child and thou a lamb, 
We are called by His name. 
Little lamb, God bless thee! 
20 Little lamb, God bless thee ! 



NIGHT 
(From the same) 

The sun descending in the west, 
The evening star does shine, 
The birds are silent in their nest, 
And I must seek for mine. 
5 The moon, like a flower 
In heaven's high bower. 
With silent delight. 
Sits and smiles on the night. 

Farewell, green fields and happy grove, 
10 Where flocks have ta'en delight; 

Where lambs have nibbled, silent move 
The feet of angels bright; 
Unseen, they pour blessing, 
And joy without ceasing, 
15 On each bud and blossom. 
And each sleeping bosom. 

They look in every thoughtless nest, 
Where birds are covered warm; 
They visit caves of every beast, 
20 To keep them all from harm. 
If they see any weeping 
That should have been sleeping, 
They pour sleep on their head. 
And sit down by their bed. 



268 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

25 When wolves and tigers howl for prey 
They pitying stand and weep, 
Seeking to drive their thirst away. 
And keep them from the sheep. 
But if they rush dreadful, 
30 The angels, most heedful. 
Receive each mild spirit, 
New worlds to inherit. 

And there the lion's ruddy eyes 
Shall flow with tears of gold: 
35 And pitying the tender cries. 
And walking round the fold: 

Saying : ' Wrath by His meekness. 
And by His health, sickness. 
Are driven away 
40 From our immortal day. 

' And now beside thee, bleating lamb, 

I can lie down and sleep, 

Or think on Him who bore thy name. 

Graze after thee, and weep. 
45 For wash'd in life's river. 
My bright mane forever 
Shall shine like the gold. 
As I guard o'er the fold.' 



TO THE DIVINE IMAGE 
(From the same) 

To mercy, pity, peace, and love, 
All pray in their distress. 

And to these virtues of delight 
Return their thankfulness. 



WILLIAM BLAKE 269 

5 For mercy, pity, peace, and love 
Is God our Father dear; 
And mercy, pity, peace, and love, 
Is man. His child and care. 

For Mercy has a human heart, 
10 Pity, a human face; 

And Love, the human form divine; 
And Peace, the human dress. 

Then every man, of every clime, 
That prays in his distress, 
15 Prays to the human form divine ; 
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. 

And all must love the human form. 

In heathen, Turk, or Jew; 
Where mercy, love, and pity dwell, 
20 There God is dwelling too. 



ON ANOTHER'S SORROW 
(From the same) 

Can I see another's woe, 
And not be in sorrow too? 
Can I see another's grief. 
And not seek for kind relief? 

5 Can I see a falling tear, 

And not feel my sorrow's share ? 
Can a father see his child 
Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd? 

Can a mother sit and hear, 
10 An infant groan, an infant fear? 
No, no! never can it be! 
Never, never can it be! 



270 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

And can He, who smiles on all, 
Hear the wren, with sorrow small, 
15 Hear the small bird's grief and care, 
Hear the woes that infants bear? 

And not sit beside the nest. 
Pouring Pity in their breast. 
And not sit the cradle near, 
20 Weeping tear on infant's tear? 

And not sit both night and day. 
Wiping all our tears away? 
Oh, no ! never can it be ! 
Never, never can it be! 

25 He doth give His joy to all: 
He becomes an infant small 
He becomes a man of woe. 
He doth feel the sorrow too. 

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, 
30 And thy Maker is not by : 

Think not thou canst weep a tear. 
And thy Maker is not near. 

Oh! He gives to us His joy. 
That our griefs He may destroy. 
35 Till our grief is fled and gone 
He doth sit by us and moan. 

THE tiGER 

(From The Songs of Experience, 1794) 

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright 
In the forest of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Framed thy fearful symmetry? 



WILLIAM BLAKE 271 

5 In what distant deeps or skies 
Burned that fire within thine eyes? 
On what wings dared he aspire? 
What the hand dared seize the fire? 

And what shoulder, and what art, 
10 Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
When thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand and what dread feet? 

What the hammer, what the chain, 
Knit thy strength and forged thy brain? 
15 What the anvil? What dread grasp 
Dared thy deadly terrors clasp? 

When the stars threw down their spears. 
And water'd heaven with their tears. 
Did He smile His work to see? 
20 Did He who made the lamb make thee? 



AH! SUNFLOWER 
(From the same) 

Ah! Sunflower! weary of time, 

Who countest the steps of the sun, 
Seeking after that sweet golden prime 

Where the traveller's journey is done; 
Where the Youth pined away with desire. 

And the pale virgin shrouded in snow. 
Arise from their graves, and aspire 

Where my sunflower wishes to go! 



272 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

IRobert Burns 

(1759-1796) 
THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 

(1785) 

" Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile. 

The short and simple annals of the poor." — Gray. 

My lov'd, my honoured, much respected friend ! 

Wo mercenary bard his homage pays; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end. 
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and 
praise : 
6 To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless 
ways. 
What Aiken in a cottage would have been; 
Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I 
ween! 

10 November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; 
The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; 
The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, — 
15 This night his weekly moil is at an end, 

Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his 
hoes. 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend. 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hame- 
ward bend. 



I 



ROBERT BURNS 273 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 
20 Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; 

Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin', stacher 
through 
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise and 

glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonily, 
His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, 
25 The lisping infant, prattling on his knee. 

Does a' his weary kiaugh care beguile. 
And makes him quite forget his labour and his 
toil. 

Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in. 
At service out, amang the farmers roun'; 
30 Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 
A cannie errand to a neebor town: 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman- 
grown, 
In youthfu' bloom, — love sparkling in her e'e — 
Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new 
gown, 
35 Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee. 

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, 
And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers: 
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet: 
40 Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; 

The parents partial eye their hopeful years; 
Anticipation forward points the view; 

The mother, wi' her needle and her shears, 
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new, 
45 The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

Their master's and their mistress's command. 

The younkers a' are warned to obey: 
And mind their labors wi' an eydent hand, 



2V4 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

And ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play; 
50 " And O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway. 

And mind your duty, duly, morn and night; 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray. 
Implore His counsel and assisting might: 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord 
aright." 

55 But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door; 

Jenny, vs^ha kens the meaning o' the same. 

Tells how a neibor lad came o'er the moor. 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 

The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

60 Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; 

With heart-struck anxious care enquires his 
name. 
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; 
Weel-pleased the mother hears it's nae wild, 
worthless rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben; 
65 A strappin youth, he takes the mother's eye; 

Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill-ta'en; 
The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' 
joy. 
But blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave; 
TO The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae 
grave, 
Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like 
the lave. 

Oh, happy love! where love like this is found! 
Oh, heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond com- 
pare! 
75 I've paced much this weary, mortal round, 

And sage experience bids me this declare; — 



» 



ROBERT BURNS 275 

"If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure 
spare — 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 

'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair 
80 In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the 
evening gale." 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, 
A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 
85 Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? 

Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling 
smooth ! 
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd? 

Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 
Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? 
90 Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distrac- 
tion wild? 

But now the supper crowns their simple board, 

The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food ; 

The soupe their only hawkie does afford. 

That, 'yont the hallan cnugly chows her cood : 

95 The dame brings forth, in complimental 

mood. 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, f <^11 ; 

And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it guid : 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell 
How 't was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the 
bell. 

100 The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face. 
They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; 
The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, 
The big ha'-bible, ance his father's pride; 



276 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 
105 His lyart haifets wearing thin and bare; 

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion 

glide. 
He wales a portion with judicious care; 
And " Let us worship God ! " he says, with solemn 
air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise, 
110 They tune their hearts, by far the noblest 

aim; 
Perhaps ^ Dundee's ' wild-warbling measures 
rise, 
Or plaintive ^ Martyrs,' worthy of the name ; 
Or noble ' Elgin ' beets the heaven- ward 
flame. 
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays: 
115 Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page. 
How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 
120 Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny; 
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; 
125 Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; 

Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed : 

How He, who bore in Heaven the second name, 

130 Had not on earth whereon to lay His head; 

How His first followers and servants sped; 



I 



KOBERT BURNS 2VV 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: 

How he, who lone in Patmos banished. 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, 
135 And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by 
Heaven's command. 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, 

The saint, the father, and the husband prays : 

Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing," 

That thus they all shall meet in future days, 

140 There, ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 

Together hymning their Creator's praise, 
In such society, yet still more dear; 
While circling Time moves round in an eternal 
sphere. 

145 Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, 
In all the pomp of method, and of art; 
When men display to congregations wide 
Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! 
The Power, incens'd, the pageant will desert, 
150 The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart. 
May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the 
soul; 
And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enroll. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; 
155 The youngling cottagers retire to rest: 

The parent-pair their secret homage pay. 

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request. 
That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest. 
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 
160 Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best. 

For them and for their little ones provide; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine pre- 
side. 



278 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur 
springs, 
That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
165 Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 
" An honest man's the noblest work of God ;" 
And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road. 
The cottage leaves the palace far behind; 
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, 
170 Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd! 

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is 
sent. 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
175 Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet 

content ! 
And O ! may Heaven their simple lives pre- 
vent 
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile! 

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
180 And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd 
isle. 

O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide. 

That stream'd thro' great unhappy Wallace' 
heart, 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 
Or nobly die, the second glorious part: 
185 (The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 

Oh never, never Scotia's realm desert; 
But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and 
guard ! 



ROBERT BURNS 279 



TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER 
NEST, WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 
Wi' bickering brattle ! 
5 I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 
Wi' murd'ring pattle! 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion. 
Has broken Nature's social union. 
An' justifies that ill opinion, 
10 Which makes thee startle 

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 
An' fellow-mortal! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; 
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! 
15 A daimen icker in a thrave 
'S a sma' request ; 
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, 
And never miss't! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! 
20 It's silly wa's the win's are strewin ! 
An' naething now to big a new ana, 

O' foggage green! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 
Baith snell an' keen! 

25 Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste. 

An' weary winter comin fast. 

An' cozie here, beneath the blast. 
Thou thought to dwell — 

Till, crash! the cruel coulter past 
30 Out thro' thy cell. 



280 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble, 
But house or hald, 
35 To thole the winter's sleety dribble. 
An' cranreuch cauld! 

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane. 
In proving foresight may be vain; 
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 
40 Gang aft agley, 

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain 
For promis'd joy! 

Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me! 
The present only toucheth thee: 
45 But, och! I backward cast my e'e. 
On prospects drear! 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 
I guess an' fear! 

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, ON TURNING ONE 
DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour; 
For I maun crush amang the stour 
Thy slender stem: 
5 To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 
Thou bonie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neibor sweet. 
The bonie lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 
10 Wi' spreckl'd breast! 

When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 
The purpling east. 



ROBERT BURNS 281 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth; 
15 Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 
Amid the storm. 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 
Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 
20 High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield; 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane. 
Adorns the histy stibble-field, 
Unseen, alane. 

25 There, in thy scanty mantle clad. 

Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, 

Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
In humble guise; 

But now the share upturns thy bed, 
30 And low thou lies! 

Such is the fate of artless maid. 
Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray'd. 
And guileless trust, 
35 Till she, like thee, all soil'd is laid, 
Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard. 
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! 
Unskilful he to note the card 
40 ^ Of prudent lore. 

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard. 
And whelm him o'er! 

Such fate to suffering worth is given. 
Who long with wants and woes has striven. 



282 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

45 By human pride or cunning driv'n, 
To mis'ry's brink; 
Till, wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n 
He, ruin'd, sink! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
50 That fate is thine — no distant date; 

Stern Ruin's plough-share drives, elate. 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight. 
Shall be thy doom! 

TAM O'SHANTER 

(First published 1791) 

" Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke." — Gawin 
Douglas 

When chapman billies leave the street. 
And drouthy neibors, neibors meet; 
As market days are wearing late. 
And folk begin to tak the gate, 
5 While we sit bousing at the nappy. 
An' getting fou and unco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scots miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles. 
That lie between us and our hame, 
10 Where sits our sulky, sullen dame, 

Gathering her brows like gathering storm. 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter: 
15 (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses. 
For honest men and bonie lasses). 

O Tam ! had'st thou but been sae wise. 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! 



ROBERT BURNS 283 

She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum; 
20 A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; 

That frae JSTovember till October, 

Ae market-day thou wasna sober; 

That ilka melder wi' the Miller, 

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; 
25 That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on 

The Smith and thee gat roarin fou on; 

That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, 

Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday; 

She prophesied that late or soon, 
30 Thou wad be found deep drown'd in Doon, 

Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk. 

By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 



Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
35 How mony lengthen'd sage advices. 
The husband frae the wife despises! 

But to our tale : — Ae market night, 
Tam had got planted unco right. 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 

40 Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; 
And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: 
Tam lo'ed him like a very brither; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 

45 The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter; 
And aye the ale was growing better: 
The Landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious: 
The Souter tauld his queerest stories; 

50 The Landlord's laugh was ready chorus: 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 



284 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy. 
55 As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure. 

The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 

60 You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; 
Or like the snowfalls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts forever; 
Or like the Borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place; 

65 Or like the Rainbow's lovely form. 
Evanishing amid the storm. — 
Nae man can tether Time or Tide; 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride: 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 

70 That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; 
And sic a night he taks the road in, 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 't wad blawn its last; 
The rattling showers rose on the blast; 

75 The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; 
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd: 
That night,, a child might understand, 
The deil had business on his hand. 
Weel-mounted on his gray mare Meg, 

80 A better never lifted leg, 

Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet. 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, 

85 Whiles glow'rin round wi' prudent cares. 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 



ROBERT BURNS 286 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
90 Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Where hnnters fand the murder'd bairn; 
95 And near the thorn, aboon the well. 
Where Mungo's mither hang^'d hersel'. 
Before him Doon pours all his floods; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods. 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole, 
100 Near and more near the thunders roll. 

When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze. 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing. 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

105 Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! 

What dangers thou canst make us scorn! 

Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; 

Wi' usquebae, w^e'll face the devil! 

The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
110 Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle, 

But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd, 

Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd. 

She ventur'd forward on the light; 

And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight! 

115 Warlocks and witches in a dance: 

Nae cotillion, brent new frae France, 

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 

Put life and mettle in their heels. 

A winnock-bunker in the east, 
120 There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 

To gie them music was his charge; 

He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, 



286 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. 

125 Coffins stood round, like open presses, 

That shaw'd the Dead in their last dresses; 
And (by some devilish cantraip sleight) 
Each in its cauld hand held a light. 
By which heroic Tarn was able 

130 To note upon the haly table, 

A murderer's banes, in gibbet-airns ; 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns; 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; 

135 Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted; 
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; 
A garter which a babe had strangled: 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled. 
Whom his ain son of life bereft, 

140 The gray-hairs yet stack to the heft; 
Wi' mair of horrible and awfu', 
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowr'd amaz'd, and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious ; • 

145 The Piper loud and louder blew, 
The dancers quick and quicker flew; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit. 
And coost her duddies to the wark, 

150 And linket at it in her sark! 

Now Tarn, O Tam ! had thae been queans, 
A' plump and strapping in their teens ! 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flainen. 
Been snaw- white seventeen-hunder linen! — 
155 Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair. 

That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, 
For ae blink o' the bonie burdies! 



ROBERT BURNS 287 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
160 Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 

Louping an' flinging on a crummock, 

I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 
But Tam kennt what was what fu' brawlie; 

There was ae winsome wench and waulie, 
165 That night enlisted in the core, 

Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore; 

(For mony a beast to dead she shot. 

And perish'd mony a bonie boat. 

And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
170 And kept the country-side in fear) ; 

Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn. 

That while a lassie she had worn. 

In longitude tho' sorely scanty. 

It was her best, and she was vauntie. 
175 Ah ! little ken'd thy reverend grannie. 

That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 

Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), 

Wad ever grac'd a dance o' witches ! 
But here my Muse her wing maun cour, 
180 Sic flights are far beyond her power; 

To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 

(A souple jade she was and Strang), 

And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd, 

And thought his very een enrich'd: 
185 Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain. 

And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: 

Till first ae caper, syne anither, 

Tam tint his reason a' thegither, 

And roars out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark ! " 
190 And in an instant all was dark: 

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 

When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke. 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 



288 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

195 As open pussie's mortal foes, 

When, pop! she starts before their nose; 

As eager runs the market-crowd. 

When " Catch the thief ! " resounds aloud ; 

So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
200 Wi' mony an eldritch skreich and hollow. 

Ah, Tam ! ah, Tam ! thou '11 get thy f airin ! 

In hell they '11 roast thee like a herrin! 

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! 

Kate soon will be a woef u' woman ! 
205 Now, do thy speedy-utmost, Meg, 

And win the key-stane o' the brig; 

There, at them thou thy tail may toss, 

A running stream they darena cross! 

But ere the key-stane she could make, 
210 The fient a tail she had to shake ! 

For Nannie, far before the rest. 

Hard upon noble Maggie prest. 

And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; 

But little wist she Maggie's mettle! 
215 Ae spring brought off her master hale. 

But left behind her ain gray tail: 

The carlin claught her by the rump, 

And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
220 Ilk man, and mother's son, take heed: 
Whene'er to Drink you are inclin'd. 
Or Cutty-sarks rin in your mind, 
Think ye may buy the joys o'er dear; 
Kemember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 



ROBERT BURNS 289 



BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY AT 
BANNOCKBURN 

(1793) 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has often led; 
Welcome to your gory bed. 
Or to Victorie ! 

5 Now's the day, and now's the hour; 
See the front o' battle lour; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Chains and Slaverie! 

Wha will be a traitor knave? 

10 Wha can fill a coward's grave? 

Wha sae base as be a slave? 

Let him turn and flee! 

Wha, for Scotland's King and Law, 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
15 Freeman stand, or freeman fa', 
Let him on wi' me ! 

By Oppression's woes and pains! 
By your Sons in servile chains! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
20 But they shall be free! 

Lay the proud Usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow! — 
Let us Do or Die! 



290 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

THE BANKS OF DOON 
(Second version, 1791) 

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, 
How can ye blume sae fair ? 

How can ye chant, ye little birds. 
And I sae fu' o' care! 

5 Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, 
That sings upon the bough! 
Thou minds me o' the happy days 
When my fause Luve was true. 

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, 
10 That sings beside thy mate; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 
And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, 
To see the woodbine twine; 
15 And ilka bird sang o' its Luve, 



Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Upon its thorny tree; 
But my fause Luver staw the rose, 
20 And left the thorn wi' me. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose. 

Upon a morn in June; 
And sae I flourished on the morn. 

And sae was pu'd or noon. 



ROBERT BURNS 291 

A RED, RED ROSE 
(1793) 

O my Luve's like a red, red rose, 

That's newly sprung in June: 
O my Luve's like the melodie 

That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

5 As fair art thou, my bonie lass. 
So deep in luve am I ; 
And I will luve thee still, my dear. 
Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
10 And the rocks melt wi' the sun: 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve! 
And fare-thee-weel awhile! 
15 And I will come again, my Luve, 
Tho' 't were ten thousand mile! 



IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY 

(1795) 
(Tune— "For a' that") 

Is there for honest Poverty, 

That hings his head, an' a' that; 
The cow^ard slave — we pass him by. 

We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, an' a' that. 

Our toils obscure an' a' that. 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 

The Man's the gowd for a' that. 



292 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

What though on hamely fare we dine, 
10 Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that; 

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 

A Man's a Man for a' that: 
For a' that, an' a' that. 

Their tinsel show, an' a' that; 
15 The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 
Is king o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, an' stares an' a' that; 

Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 
20 He's but a coof for a' that: 

For a' that, an' a' that. 

His ribband, star, an' a' that: 

The man o' independent mind. 
He looks an' laughs at a' that. 

25 A prince can mak a belted knight, 
A marquis, duke, an' a' 'that; 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 

Guid faith, he maunna fa' that ! 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
30 Their dignities an' a' that; 

The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, 
Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may, 
(As come it will for a' that,) 
35 That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, 
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 

It's coming yet for a' that, 
That Man to Man, the warld o'er, 
40 Shall brothers be for a' that. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 293 

O. WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST 
(1796) 

O wert thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea. 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee; 
5 Or did Misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom. 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 
10 Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, 
The desert were a Paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there; 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
15 The brightest jewel in my Crown 

Wad be my Queen, wad be my Queen. 

mtUtam Mort)6Wortb 

1770-1850 
LINES 

COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON RE- 
VISITING THE BANKS OP THE WYE DURING A TOUR 

(July 13, 1798) 

Five years have past; five summers, with the 

length 
Of five long winters ! and again I hear 
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs 
With a sweet inland murmur. — Once again 
5 Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs. 



294 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

That on a wild secluded scene impress 
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect 
The landscape with the quiet of the sky. 
The day is come when I again repose 

10 Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 

These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard- 
tufts. 
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, 
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves 
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see 

15 These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines 
Of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms. 
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke 
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees ! 
With some uncertain notice, as might seem 

20 Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods. 
Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire 
The hermit sits alone. 

These beauteous forms, 
Through a long absence, have not been to me 
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye : 

25 But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din 
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them. 
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, 
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart ; 
And passing even into my purer mind, 

30 With tranquil restoration: — feelings too 
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps. 
As have no slight or trivial influence 
On that best portion of a good man's life. 
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts 

35 Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust. 
To them I may have owed another gift, 
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood. 
In which the burden of the mystery, 
In which the heavy and the weary weight 

40 Of all this unintelligible world. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 295 

Is lightened :— that serene and blessed mood, 
In which the affections gently lead us on, — 
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame 
And even the motion of our human blood 

45 Almost suspended, we are laid asleep 
In body, and become a living soul ; 
While with an eye made quiet by the power 
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, 
We see into the life of things. 

If this 

50 Be but a vain belief, yet, oh ! how oft — 
In darkness and amid the many shapes 
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir 
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world. 
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart — 

55 How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, 

O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer thro' the woods, 
How often has my spirit turned to thee! 

And now, with gleams of half -extinguished 
thought. 
With many recognitions dim and faint, 
60 And somewhat of a sad perplexity. 
The picture of the mind revives again : 
While here I stand, not only with the sense 
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 
That in this moment there is life and food 
65 For future years. And so I dare to hope. 

Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when 

first 
I came among these hills; when like a roe 
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides 
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, 
70 Wherever nature led: more like a man 

Flying from something that he dreads than one 
Who sought the thing he loved. For Nature 
then 



296 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, 
And their glad animal movements all gone by) 

75 To me was all in all. — I cannot paint 
What then I was. The sounding cataract 
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, 
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 
Their colours and their forms, were then to me 

80 An appetite; a feeling and a love, 
That had no need of a remoter charm. 
By thought supplied, nor any interest 
Unborrowed from the eye. — That time is past, 
And all its aching joys are now no more, 

85 And all its dizzy raptures. ISTor for this 
Faint T, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts 
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe. 
Abundant recompense. For I have learned 
To look on nature, not as in the hour 

90 Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes 
The still, sad music of humanity, 
'Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power 
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 
A presence that disturbs me with the joy 

95 Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime 
Of something far more deeply interfused. 
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
And the round ocean and the living air, 
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man : 
100 A motion and a spirit, that impels 

All thinking things, all objects of all thought. 
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I 

still 
A lover of the meadows and the woods. 
And mountains; and of all that we behold 
105 From this green earth; of all the mightj' 
world 
Of eye, and ear, — both what they half create. 
And what perceive ; well pleased to recognize 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 297 

In nature and the language of the sense, 
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, 

110 The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 
Of all my moral being. 

Nor perchance. 
If I were not thus taught, should I the more 
Suffer my genial spirits to decay: 
For thou art with me here upon the banks 

115 Of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend, 
My dear, dear Friend ; and in thy voice I catch 
The language of my former heart, and read 
My former pleasures in the shooting lights 
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while 

120 May I behold in thee what I was once. 

My dear, dear Sister ! and this prayer I make. 
Knowing that TsTature never did betray 
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege 
Through all the years of this our life, to lead 

125 From joy to joy: for she can so inform 
The mind that is within us, so impress 
With quietness and beauty, and so feed 
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, 
Eash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, 

130 Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all 
The dreary intercourse of daily life. 
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb 
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold 
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon 

135 Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; 

And let the misty mountain-winds be free 
To blow against thee : and, in after years, 
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured 
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind 

140 Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms. 
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place 
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, 
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief. 



298 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Should be thy portion, with what healing 

thoughts 
145 Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, 

And these my exhortations ! Nor, perchance — 

If I should be where I no more can hear 

Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these 

gleams 
Of past existence — wilt thou then forget 
150 That on the banks of this delightful stream 
We stood together ; and that I, so long 
A worshipper of j^ature, hither came 
Unwearied in that service: rather say 
With warmer love — oh ! with far deeper zeal 
155 Of holier love. Nor will thou then forget, 
That after many wanderings, many years 
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, 
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me 
More dear, both for themselves and for thy 

sake! 

EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY 

(1798) 

" Why, William, on that old gray stone 
Thus for the length of half a day. 
Why, William, sit you thus alone. 
And dream your time away? 

5 Where are your books? — that light bequeathed 
To Beings else forlorn and blind! 
Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed 
From dead men to their kind. 

You look round on your Mother Earth, 
10 As if she for no purpose bore you; 
As if you were her first-born birth. 
And none had lived before you ! " 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 299 

One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, 
When life was sweet, I knew not why, 
15 To me my good friend Matthew spake, 
And thus I made reply : 

" The eye — it cannot choose but see ; 
We cannot bid the ear be still; 
Our bodies feel, where'er they be, 
20 Against or with our will. 

ISTor less I deem that there are Powers 
Which of themselves our minds impress; 
That we can feed this mind of ours 
In a wise passiveness. 

25 Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum 
Of things forever speaking. 
That nothing of itself will come, 
But we must still be seeking? 

— Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, 
30 Conversing as I may, 

I sit upon this old gray stone. 
And dream my time away." 

THE TABLES TURNED 

AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT 

(1798) 

Up ! up ! my Friend, and quit your books ; 
Or surely you '11 grow double: 
Up ! up ! my Friend, and clear your looks ; 
Why all this toil and trouble? 

5 The sun, above the mountain's head, 
A freshening lustre mellow 
Through all the long green fields has spread. 
His first sweet evening yellow. 



300 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: 
10 Come, hear the woodland linnet, 
How sweet his music! on my life. 
There's more of wisdom in it. 

And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! 
He, too, is no mean preacher : 
15 Come forth into the light of things. 
Let Nature be your teacher. 

She has a world of ready wealth. 
Our minds and hearts to bless — 
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, 
20 Truth breathed by cheerfulness. 

One impulse from a vernal wood 
May teach you more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good. 
Than all the sages can. 

25 Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; 
Our meddling intellect 
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things 
We murder to dissect. 

Enough of Science and of Art; 
30 Close up those barren leaves; 

Come forth, and bring with you a heart 
That watches and receives. 

THREE YEARS SHE GREW 
(1799) 

Three years she grew in sun and shower. 
Then Nature said, " A lovelier flower 
On earth was never sown; 
This Child I to myself will take; 
5 She shall be mine, and I will make 
A Lady of my own. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 301 

Myself will to my darling be 
Both law and impulse: and with me 
The Girl, in rock and plain, 
10 In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 
Shall feel an overseeing power 
To kindle or restrain. 

She shall be sportive as the fawn 
That wild with glee across the lawn 
15 Or up the mountain springs; 

And hers shall be the breathing balm, 
And hers the silence and the calm 
Of mute insensate things. 

The floating clouds their state shall lend 
20 To her; for her the willow bend; 
Nor shall she fail to see 
Even in the motions of the Storm, 
Grace that shall mold the Maiden'a form 
By silent sympathy. 

25 The stars of midnight shall be dear 

To her; and she shall lean her ear 

In many a secret place 

Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 

And beauty born of murmuring sound 
30 Shall pass into her face. 

And vital feelings of delight 
Shall rear her form to stately height. 
Her virgin bosom swell; 
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
35 While she and I together live 
Here in this happy dell." 

Thus Nature spake — The work was done — 
How soon my Lucy's race was run! 



302 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

She died, and left to me 
40 This heath, this calm, and quiet scene; 
The memory of what has been, 
And never more will be. 



SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS 

(1799) 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways 

Beside the springs of Dove, 
A Maid whom there were none to praise. 

And very few to love: 

5 A violet by a mossy stone 
Half hidden from the eye ! 
— Fair as a star, when only one 
Is shining in the sky. 

She lived unknown, and few could know 
10 When Lucy ceased to be; 

But she is in her grave, and, oh, 
The difference to me! 

MICHAEL 
A Pastoral Poem 

(1800) 

If from the public way you turn your steps 
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, 
You will suppose that with an upright path 
Y^our feet must struggle ; in such bold ascent 
5 The pastoral mountains front you, face to face. 
But, courage! for around that boisterous brook 
The mountains have all opened out themselves. 
And made a hidden valley of their own. 



WILLIAM WOKDSWORTH 303 

No habitation can be seen; but they 

10 Who journey thither find themselves alone 

With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and 

kites 
That overhead are sailing in the sky. 
It is in truth an utter solitude; 
'Nov should I have made mention of this Dell 

15 But for one object which you might pass by. 
Might see and notice not. Beside the brook 
Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones : 
And to that simple object appertains 
A story unenriched with strange events, 

20 Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside, 
Or for the summer shade. It was the first 
Of those domestic tales that spake to me 
Of Shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men 
Whom I already loved: — not verily 

25 For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills 
Where was their occupation and abode. 
And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy 
Careless of books, yet having felt the power 
Of Nature, by the gentle agency 

30 Of natural objects, led me on to feel 

For passions that were not my own, and think 
(At random and imperfectly indeed) 
On man, the heart of man, and human life. 
Therefore, although it be a history 

35 Homely and rude, I will relate the same 
For the delight of a few natural hearts; 
And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake 
Of youthful Poets, who among these hills 
Will be my second self when I am gone. 

40 Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale 

There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name ; 
An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb. 
His bodily frame had been from youth to age 



304 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Of an unusual strength : his mind was keen, 

45 Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs. 

And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt 
And watchful more than ordinary men. 
Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds, 
Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes, 

50 When others heeded not, he heard the South 
Make subterraneous music, like the noise 
Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills. 
The Shepherd, at such warning, of his flock 
Bethought him, and he to himself would say, 

55 " The winds are now devising work for me ! " 
And, truly, at all times, the storm, that drives 
The traveller to a shelter, summoned him 
Up to the mountains : he had been alone 
Amid the heart of many thousand mists, 

60 That came to him, and left him, on the heights. 
So lived he till his eightieth year was past. 
And grossly that man errs, who should suppose 
That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks. 
Were things indifferent to the Shepherd's 
thoughts. 

65 Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had 
breathed 
The common air; hills, which with vigorous step 
He had so often climbed ; which had impressed 
So many incidents upon his mind 
Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear; 

70 Which, like a book, preserved the memory 
Of the dumb animals whom he had saved, 
Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts 
The certainty of honourable gain. 
Those fields, those hills — what could they less? 
had laid 

75 Strong hold on his affections, were to him 
A pleasurable feeling of blind love. 
The pleasure which there is in life itself. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 305 

His days had not been passed in singleness. 
His Helpmate was a comely matron, old — 

80 Though younger than himself full twenty years. 
She was a woman of a stirring life. 
Whose heart was in her house : two wheels she had 
Of antique form ; this large, for spinning wool ; 
That small, for flax; and if one wheel had rest, 

85 It was because the other was at work. 

The Pair had but one r-mate in their house. 
An only Child, who had been born to them 
When Michael, telling o'er his years, began 
To deem that he was old, — in shepherd's phrase, 

90 With one foot in the grave. This only Son, 
With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many a storm. 
The one of an inestimable worth. 
Made all their household. I may truly say 
That they were as a proverb in the vale 

95 For endless industry. When day was gone, 
And from their occupations out of doors 
The Son and Father were come home, even then, 
Their labor did not cease; unless when all 
Turned to the cleanly supper-board, and there, 
100 Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed milk. 
Sat round the basket piled with oaten cakes. 
And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when 

the meal 
Was ended, Luke (for so the Son was named) 
And his old Father both betook themselves 
105 To such convenient work as might employ 
Their hands by the fire-side; perhaps to card 
Wool for the Housewife's spindle, or repair 
Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe. 
Or other implement of house or field. 

110 Down from the ceiling, by the chimney's edge, 
That in our ancient uncouth country style 
With huge and black projection overbrowed 



306 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Large space beneath, as duly as the light 

Of day grew dim the Housewife hung a lamp; 

115 An aged utensil, which had performed 
Service beyond all others of its kind. 
Early at evening did it burn — and late, 
Surviving comrade of uncounted hours, 
Which, going by from year to year, had found, 

120 And left the couple neither gay perhaps 

Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes, 

Living a life of eager industry. 

And now, when Luke had reached his eighteenth 

year 
There by the light of this old lamp they sat, 

125 Father and Son, while far into the night 

The Housewife plied her own peculiar work, 
Making the cottage through the silent hours 
Murmur as with the sound of summer flies. 
This light was famous in its neighborhood, 

130 And was a public symbol of the life 

That thrifty Pair had lived. For, as it chanced, 
Their cottage on a plot of rising ground 
Stood single, with large prospect, north and south, 
High into Easedale, up to Dunmail-Raise, 

135 And westward to the village near the lake; 
And from this constant light, so regular 
And so far seen, the House itself, by all 
Who dwelt within the limits of the vale, 
Both old and young, was named The Evening 
Star. 

140 Thus living on through such a length of years, 
The Shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs 
Have loved his Helpmate; but to Michael's heart 
This son of his old age was yet more dear — 
Less from instinctive tenderness, the same 

145 Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of 
all— 
Than that a child, more than all other gifts 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 307 

That earth can offer to declining man, 

Brings hope with it, and forward-looking 

thoughts. 
And stirrings of inquietude, when they 

150 By tendency of nature needs must fail. 
Exceeding was the love he bare to him. 
His heart and his heart's joy! For oftentimes 
Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms, 
Had done him female service, not alone 

155 Por pastime and delight, as is the use 

Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced 
To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked 
His cradle, as with a woman's gentle hand. 
And, in a later time, ere yet the Boy 

160 Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love. 
Albeit of a stern unbending mind, 
To have the Young one in his sight, when he 
Wrought in the field, or on his shepherd's stool 
Sate with a fettered sheep before him stretched 

165 Under the large old oak, that near his door 

Stood single, and, from matchless depth of shade, 
Chosen for the Shearer's covert from the sun, 
Thence in our rustic dialect was called 
The Clipping Tree, a name which yet it bears. 

lYO There while they two were sitting in the shade. 
With others round them, earnest all and blithe, 
Would Michael exercise his heart with looks 
Of fond correction and reproof bestowed 
Upon the Child, if he disturbed the sheep 

175 By catching at their legs, or with his shouts 

Scared them, while they lay still beneath the 
shears. 

And when by Heaven's good grace the boy 
grew up 
A healthy Lad, and carried in his cheek 
Two steady roses that were five years old; 



308 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

180 Then Michael from a winter coppice cut 

With his own hand a sapling, which he hooped 
With iron, making it throughout in all 
Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff, 
And gave it to the Boy ; wherewith equipt 

185 He as a watchman oftentimes was placed 
At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock; 
And, to his office prematurely called. 
There stood the urchin, as you will divine, 
Something between a hindrance and a help; 

190 And for this cause not always, I believe, 
Receiving from his Father hire of praise; 
Though naught was left undone which staff, or 

voice. 
Or looks, or threatening gestures, could perform. 

But soon, as Luke, full ten years old, could 
stand 

195 Against the mountain blasts, and to the heights. 
Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways. 
He with his Father daily went, and they 
Were as companions, why should I relate 
That objects which the Shepherd loved before 

200 Were dearer now ? that from the Boy there came 
Feelings and emanations — things which were 
Light to the sun and music to the wind: 
And that the old Man's heart seemed born again ? 

Thus in his Father's sight the Boy grew up; 
205 And now, when he had reached his eighteenth 
year. 
He was his comfort and his daily hope. 

While in this sort the simple household lived 
From day to day, to Michael's ear there came 
Distressful tidings. Long before the time 
210 Of which I speak, the Shepherd had been bound 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 309 

In surety for his brother's son, a man 
Of an industrious life, and ample means; 
But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly- 
Had prest upon him; and old Michael now 

215 Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture, 
A grievous penalty, but little less 
Than half his substance. This unlooked-for 

claim. 
At the first hearing, for a moment took 
More hope out of his life than he supposed 

220 That any old man ever could have lost. 

As soon as he had armed himself with strength 
To look his trouble in the face, it seemed 
The Shepherd's sole resource to sell at once 
A portion of his patrimonial fields. 

225 Such was his first resolve; he thought again, 
And his heart failed him. " Isabel," said he, 
Two evenings after he had heard the news, 
" I have been toiling more than seventy years, 
And in the open sunshine of God's love 

230 Have we all lived ; yet if these fields of ours 
Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think 
That I could not lie quiet in my grave. 
Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself 
Has scarcely been more diligent than I; 

235 And I have lived to be a fool at last 
To my own family. An evil man 
That was, and made an evil choice, if he 
Were false to us ; and if he were not false, 
There are ten thousand to whom loss like this 

240 Had been no sorrow. I forgive him; — but 
'Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. 

When I began, my purpose was to speak 
Of remedies and of a cheerful hope. 
Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land 
245 Shall not go from us, and it shall be free; 



310 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

He shall possess it free as is the wind 
That passes over it. We have, thou know'st, 
Another kinsman — he will be our friend 
In this distress. He is a prosperous man, 

260 Thriving in trade — and Luke to him shall go, 
And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift 
He quickly will repair this loss, and then 
He may return to us. If here he stay. 
What can be done? Where everyone is poor, 

255 What can be gained ? " 

At this the old Man paused, 
And Isabel sat silent, for her mind 
Was busy, looking back into past times. 
There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself, 
He was a parish-boy — at the church-door 

260 They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence 
And half pennies, wherewith the neighbors 

bought 
A basket, which they filled with peddler's wares; 
And, with this basket on his arm, the lad 
Went up to London, found a master there, 

265 Who, out of many, chose the trusty boy 
To go and overlook his merchandise 
Beyond the seas; where he grew wondrous rich, 
And left estates and moneys to the poor, 
And, at his birth-place, built a chapel, floored 

270 With marble, which he sent from foreign lands. 
These thoughts, and many others of like sort, 
Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel, 
And her face brightened. The old Man was glad, 
And thus resumed : — " Well, Isabel ! this scheme 

275 These two days, has been meat and drink to me. 
Far more than we have lost is left us yet. 
— We have enough — I wish indeed that I 
Were younger ; — but this hope is a good hope. 
— Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best 

280 Buy for him more, and let us send him forth 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 311 

To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night : 
If he could go, the boy should go to-night." 
Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth 
With a light heart. The Housewife for five days 
285 Was restless morn and night, and all day long 
Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare 
Things needful for the journey of her son. 
But Isabel was glad when Sunday came 
To stop her in her work: for, when she lay 
290 By Michael's side, she through the last two 
nights 
Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep : 
And when they rose at morning she could see 
That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon 
She said to Luke, while they two by themselves 
295 Were sitting at the door, " Thou must not go : 
We have no other Child but thee to lose. 
None to remember — do not go away; 
For if thou leave thy Father, he will die." 
The youth made answer with a jocund voice; 
300 And Isabel, when she had told her fears. 

Recovered heart. That evening her best fare 
Did she bring forth, and all together sat 
Like happy people round a Christmas fire. 
With daylight Isabel resumed her work 
305 And all the ensuing week the house appeared 
As cheerful as a grove in Spring : at length 
The expected letter from their kinsman came, 
With kind assurances that he would do 
His utmost for the welfare of the Boy; 
310 To which, requests were added, that forthwith 
He might be sent to him. Ten times or more 
The letter was read over; Isabel 
Went forth to show it to the neighbors round; 
Nor was there at that time on English land 
315 A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel 
Had to her house returned, the old Man said. 



312 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

" He shall depart to-morrow." To this word 
The Housewife answered, talking much of things 
Which, if at such short notice he should go, 

320 Would surely be forgotten. But at length 
She gave consent, and Michael was at ease. 
jSTear the tumultuous brook of Green-head 
Ghyll, 
In that deep valley, Michael had designed 
To build a Sheep-fold; and, before he heard 

325 The tidings of his melancholy loss. 

For this same purpose he had gathered up 
A heap of stones, which by the streamlet's edge 
Lay thrown together, ready for the work. 
With Luke that evening thitherward he walked: 

330 And soon as they had reached the place he 
stopped. 
And thus the old Man spake to him : " My Son, 
To-morrow thou wilt leave me: with full heart 
I look upon thee, for thou art the same 
That wert a promise to me ere thy birth 

335 And all thy life hast been my daily joy. 
I will relate to thee some little part 
Of our two histories; 'twill do thee good 
When thou art from me, even if I should touch 
On things thou canst not know of. — After thou 

340 First camest into the world — as oft befalls 
To new-born infants — thou didst sleep away 
Two days, and blessings from thy Father's tongue 
Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed on, 
And still I loved thee with increasing love. 

345 Never to living ear came sweeter sounds 

Than when I heard thee by our own fire-side 
First uttering, without words, a natural tune; 
While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy 
Sing at thy mother's breast. Month followed 
month, 

350 And in the open fields my life was passed 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 313 

And on the mountains ; else I think that thou 
Hadst been brought up upon thy Father's knees. 
But we were playmates, Luke : among these hills, 
As well thou knowest, in us the old and young 

355 Have played together, nor with me didst thou 
Lack any pleasure which a boy can know." 
Luke had a manly heart; but at these words 
He sobbed aloud. The old Man grasped his hand, 
And said, " Nay, do not take it so — I see 

360 That these are things of which I need not speak. 
Even to the utmost I have been to thee 
A kind and a good Father: And herein 
I but repay a gift which I myself 
Received at others' hands; for, though now old 

365 Beyond the common life of man, I still 

Remember them who loved me in my youth. 
Both of them sleep together: here they lived, 
As all their Forefathers had done; and when 
At length their time was come, they were not loth 

370 To give their bodies to the family mould. 

I wished that thou shouldst live the life they 

lived : 
But, 'tis a long time to look back, my Son, 
And see so little gain from threescore years. 
These fields were burdened when they came 
to me; 

375 Till I was forty years of age, not more 
Than half of my inheritance was mine. 
I toiled and toiled; God blessed me in my work, 
And till these three weeks past the land was free. 
It looks as if it never could endure 

380 Another Master. Heaven forgive me, Luke, 
H I judge ill for thee, but it seems good 
That thou should'st go." 

At this the old man paused. 
Then, pointing to the stones near which they 
stood 



314 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Thus, after a short silence, he resumed: 

385 " This was a work for us ; and now, my Son, 
It is a work for me. But, lay one stone — 
Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands. 
Kay, Boy, be of good hope; — we both may live 
To see a better day. At eighty-four 

390 I am strong and hale; — Do thou thy part; 
I will do mine. — I will begin again 
With many tasks that were resigned to thee : 
Up to the heights, and in among the storms. 
Will I without thee go again, and do 

395 All works which I was wont to do alone, 

Before I knew thy face. — Heaven bless thee. Boy ! 
Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast 
With many hopes; it should be so — yes — yes — 
I knew that thou couldst never have a wish 

400 To leave me, Luke : thou hast been bound to me 
Only by links of love: When thou art gone, 
What will be left to us ! — But, I forget 
My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone. 
As I requested; and hereafter, Luke, 

405 When thou art gone away, should evil men 
Be thy companions, think of me, my Son, 
And of this moment: hither turn thy thoughts. 
And God will strengthen thee : amid all fear 
And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou 

410 Mayst bear in mind the life thy Fathers lived. 
Who, being innocent, did for that cause 
Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well — 
When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see 
A work which is not here — a covenant 

415 'Twill be between us ; but, whatever fate 
Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last. 
And bear thy memory with me to the grave." 

The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped 
down. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 3 15 

And, as his Father had requested, laid 

420 The first stone of the Sheep-fold. At the sight 
The old Man's grief broke from him ; to his heart 
He pressed his Son, he kissed him and wept; 
And to the house together they returned. 
Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming- 
peace, 

425 Ere the night fell : — with morrow's dawn the Boy 
Began his journey, and when he had reached 
The public way, he put on a bold face; 
And all the neighbors, as he passed their doors. 
Came forth with wishes and with farewell prayers, 

430 That followed him till he was out of sight. 

A good report did from their Kinsman come. 
Of Luke and his well-doing: and the Boy 
Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news. 
Which, as the Housewise phrased it, were 
throughout 

435 " The prettiest letters that were ever seen." 
Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. 
So, many months passed on; and once again 
The Shepherd went about his daily work 
With confident and cheerful thoughts; and nou' 

440 Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour 
He to that valley took his way, and there 
Wrought at the Sheep-fold. Meantime Luke 

began 
To slacken in his duty; and, at length. 
He in the dissolute city gave himself 

445 To evil courses: ignominy and shame 

Fell on him, so that he was driven at last 
To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas. 

There is a comfort in the strength of love; 
'Twill make a thing endurable, which else 

450 Would overset the brain, or break the heart : 
I have conversed with more than one who well 
Remember the old Man, and what he was 



316 THOMSON TO TENNYSO^ 

Years after he had heard this heavy news. 
His bodily frame had been from youth to age 

455 Of an unusual strength. x\mong the rocks 

He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud, 
And listened to the wind; and, as before. 
Performed all kinds of labor for his sheep, 
And for the land, his small inheritance. 

460 And to that hollow dell from time to time 
Did he repair, to build the Fold of which 
His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet 
The pity which was then in every heart 
For the old Man — and 'tis believed by all 

465 That many and many a day he thither went, 
And never lifted up a single stone. 

There, by the Sheep-fold, sometimes was he 
seen. 
Sitting alone, or with his faithful Dog, 
Then old, beside him, lying at his feet. 

470 The length of full seven years, from time to time. 
He at the building of this Sheep-fold wrought, 
And left the work unfinished when he died. 
Three years, or little more, did Isabel 
Survive her husband : at her death the estate 

475 Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand. 

The Cottage which was named The Evening Star 
Is gone — the plowshare has been through the 

ground 
On which it stood; great changes have been 

wrought 
In all the neighborhood: — yet the oak is left 

480 That grew beside their door ; and the remains 
Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen 
Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH SlY 



MY HEART LEAPS UP 

(1807) 

My heart leaps up when I behold 
A rainbow in the sky : 

So was it when my life began; 

So is it now I am a man; 
5 So be it when I shall grow old, 
Or let me die! 

The Child is father of the Man ; 

And I could wish my days to be 

Bound each to each by natural piety. 

THE SOLITARY REAPER 

(1807) 

Behold her, single in the field. 
Yon solitary Highland Lass! 
Reaping and singing by herself; 
Stop here, or gently pass! 
5 Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
And sings a melancholy strain; 
O, listen! for the Vale profound 
Is overflowing with the sound. 

N'o nightingale did ever chaunt 
10 More welcome notes to weary bands 

Of travellers in some shady haunt, 

Among Arabian sands: 

A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard 

In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, 
15 Breaking the silence of the seas 

Among the farthest Hebrides. 

Will no one tell me what she sings? — 
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
For old, unhappy, far-off things, 
20 And battles long ago: 



318 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Or is it some more humble lay, 
Familiar matter of to-day? 
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain. 
That has been, and may be again? 

25 Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang 

As if her song could have no ending; 

I saw her singing at her work, 

And o'er the sickle bending; — 

I listened, motionless and still; 
30 And, as I mounted up the hill, 

The music in my heart I bore. 

Long after it was heard no more. 

ODE 

INTIMATIONS OP IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
EARLY CHILDHOOD, 

(1803-6) 

I. 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream. 
The earth, and every common sight. 
To me did seem 
Apparelled in celestial light, 
5 The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore; — 
Turn wheresoe'er I may. 
By night or day. 
The things which I have seen I now can see no 
more. 

II. 

10 The Eainbow comes and goes, 

And lovely is th Rose, 
The Moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare. 
Waters on a starry night 
15 Are beautiful and fair; 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 319 

The sunshine is a glorious birth; 
But yet I know, where'er I go. 
That there hath passed away a glory from the 
earth. 

III. 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 
20 And while the young lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound, 
To me alone there came a thought of grief: 
A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 
And I again am strong: 
25 The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep ; 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; 
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, 
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
And all the earth is gay; 
30 Land and sea 

Give themselves up to jollity, 
And with the heart of May 
Doth every Beast keep holiday; — 
Thou Child of Joy, 
35 Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou 
happy Shepherd-boy! 

IV. 

Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make; I see 
The heavens laugh with yoti in your jubilee; 
My heart is at your festival, 
40 My head hath its coronal, 

The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. 
O evil day! if I were sullen 
While Earth herself is adorning, 
This sweet May-morning, 
45 And the Children are culling 

On every side. 



320 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm. 
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm: — 
60 I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! 

— But there's a Tree, of many, one, 
A single Field which I have looked upon. 
Both of them speak of something that is gone: 
The Pansy at my feet 
55 Doth the same tale repeat: 

Whither is fled the visionary gleam? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream? 

Y. 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: 
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 
60 Hath had elsewhere its setting. 

And Cometh from afar: 
Not in entire forgetfulness. 
And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 
65 From God, who is our home: 

Heaven lies about us in our infancy! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing Boy, 
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows 
70 He sees it in his joy; 

The Youth, who daily farther from the east 
Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, 
And by the vision splendid 
Is on his way attended; 
75 At length the Man perceives it die atvay. 
And fade into the light of common day. 

VI. 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, 



WILLIAM WORDSWOKTH 321 

And, even with something of a Mother's mind, 
80 And no unworthy aim, 

The homely Nurse doth all she can 
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, 

Forget the glories he hath known. 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 

VII. 

85 Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 
A six years' Darling of a pigmy size ! 
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies. 
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses. 
With light upon him from his father's eyes! 
90 See, at his feet, some little plan or chart. 

Some fragment from his dream of human life. 
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; 
A wedding or a festival, 
A mourning or a funeral; 
95 And this hath now his heart. 

And unto this he frames his song: 
Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife; 
But it will not be long 
100 Ere this be thrown aside. 

And with new joy and pride 
The little Actor cons another part; 
Filling from time to time his " humorous stage " 
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 
105 That Life brings with her in her equipage ; 
As if his whole vocation 
Were endless imitation. 

VIII. 

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 
Thy Soul's immensity; 
110 Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind. 



322 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
Haunted forever by the eternal mind, — 
Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! 

115 On whom those truths do rest, 

Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; 
Thou, over whom thy Immortality 
Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, 

120 A Presence which is not to be put by; 

Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height. 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 

125 Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 

Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight. 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! 

IX. 

O joy! that in our embers 
130 Is something that doth live. 

That nature yet remembers 
What was so fugitive! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction: not indeed 
135 For that which is most worthy to be blest; 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest. 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in hie 
breast : — 
Not for these I raise 
140 The song of thanks and praise; 

But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things, 
Fallings from us, vanishings; 
Blank misgivings of a Creature 
145 Moving about in worlds not realized, 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 323 

High instincts before which our mortal Nature 
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: 
But for those first affections, 
Those shadowy recollections, 
150 Which, be they what they may. 

Are yet the fountain light of all our day. 
Are yet a master light of all our seeing; 

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
155 Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake. 
To perish never; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, 

Nor Man nor Boy, 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
160 Can utterly abolish or destroy! 

Hence in a season of calm weather 
Though inland far we be, 
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea 
Which brought us hither, 
165 Can in a moment travel thither. 

And see the Children sport upon the shore, 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 

X. 

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! 
And let the young Lambs bound 
170 As to the tabor's sound! 

We in thought will join your throng. 
Ye that pipe and ye that play, 
Ye that through your hearts to-day 
Feel the gladness of the May! 
175 What though the radiance which was once so 
bright 
Be now forever taken from my sight. 

Though nothing can bring back the hour 
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; 
We will grieve not, rather find 



324 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

180 Strength in what remains behind; 

In the primal sympathy 

Which having been must ever be; 

In the soothing thoughts that spring 

Out of human suffering; 
185 In the faith that looks through death 

In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

XI. 

And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills and 

Groves, 
Forebode not any severing of our loves! 
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; 

190 I only have relinquished one delight 

To live beneath your more habitual sway. 
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, 
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; 
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day 

195 Is lovely yet; 

The Clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober colouring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; 
Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 

200 Thanks to the human heart by which we live. 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears. 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 

"I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD" 

(1807) 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 
That floats on high o'er vales and hills. 
When all at once I saw a crowd, 
A host, of golden daffodils; 
5 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 326 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the milky way, 
They stretched in never-ending line 
10 Along the margin of a bay: 

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced; but they 
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: 
15 A poet could not but be gay. 
In such a jocund company: 
I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 
What wealth the show to me had brought: 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 
20 In vacant or in pensive mood. 
They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude: 
And then my heart with pleasure fills. 
And dances with the daffodils. 

"SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT" 

(1807) 

She was a Phantom of delight 
When first she gleamed upon my sight; 
A lovely Apparition, sent 
To be a moment's ornament; 
5 Her eyes are stars of Twilight fair; 
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; 
But all things else about her drawn 
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; 
A dancing Shape, an Image gay, 
10 To haunt, to startle, and way-lay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 

A Spirit, yet a Woman too! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin-liberty; 



326 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

15 A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet; 

A Creature not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food; 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
20 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eyes serene 

The very pulse of the machine; 

A Being breathing thoughtful br^^th, 

A traveller between life and death; 
25 The reason firm, the temperate will, 

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; 

A perfect Woman, nobly planned. 

To warn, to comfort, and command; 

And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
30 With something of an angel light. 

ODE TO DUTY 

(1807) 

Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! 
O Duty! if that name thou love 
Who art a light to guide, a rod 
To check the erring, and reprove; 
5 Thou, who art victory and law 
When empty terrors overawe; 
From vain temptations dost set free; 
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity ! 

There are who ask not if thine eye 
10 Be on them; who, in love and truth, 

Where no misgiving is, rely 

Upon the genial sense of youth: 

Glad Hearts ! without reproach or blot ; 

Who do thy work, and know it not. 
15 Long may the kindly impulse last ! 

But thou, if they should totter, teach them to 
stand fast! 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 32V 

Serene will be our days and bright, 
And happy will our nature be, 
When love is an unerring light, 
20 And joy its own security. 

And they a blissful course may hold 

Even now, who, not unwisely bold. 

Live in the spirit of this creed; 

Yet seek thy firm support according to their need. 

25 I, loving freedom, and untried; 
No sport of every random gust. 
Yet being to myself a guide. 
Too blindly have reposed my trust: 
And oft, when in my heart was heard 

30 Thy timely mandate, I deferred 

The task, in smoother walks to stray; 
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I 
may. 

Through no disturbance of my soul, 
Or strong compunction in me wrought, 

35 I supplicate for thy control; 

But in the quietness of thought: 

Me this unchartered freedom tires; 

I feel the weight of chance-desires: 

My hopes no more must change their name, 

40 I long for a repose that ever is the same. 

Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
The Godhead's most benignant grace; 
'Nor know we anything so fair 
As is the smile upon thy face: 
45 Flowers laugh before thee on their beds 
And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; 
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are 
fresh and strong. 



328 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

To humbler functions, awful Power! 
50 I call thee: I myself commend 

Unto thy guidance from this hour; 

Oh, let my weakness have an end! 

Give unto me, made lowly wise, 

The spirit of self-sacrifice; 
55 The confidence of reason give ; 

And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me 
live! 

SONNETS 

WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802 

O Friend! I know not which way I must look 
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, 
To think that now our life is only drest 
For show ; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, 
5 Or groom! — We must run glittering like a brook 
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: 
The wealthiest man among us is the best : 
No grandeur now in nature or in book 
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, 
10 This is idolatry: and these we adore: 

Plain living and high thinking are no more : 
The homely beauty of the good old cause 
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, 
And pure religion breathing household laws. 

LONDON, 1802 

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: 
England hath need of thee : she is a fen 
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen. 
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower. 
Have forfeited their ancient English dower 5 
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; 
Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; 
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 329 

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: 
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea : 
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, 11 
So didst thou travel on life's common way. 
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart 
The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 

''WHEN I HAVE BORNE IN MEMORY" 

(1802) 

When I have borne in memory what has tamed 
Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart 
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert 
The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed 
I had, my Country! — am I to be blamed? 5 

Now, when I think of Thee, and what Thou art, 
Verily, in the bottom of my heart. 
Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. 
For dearly must we prize thee; we who find 
In thee a bulwark for the cause of men; 10 

And I by my affection was beguiled: 
What wonder if a Poet now and then, 
Among the many movements of his mind, 
Felt for thee as a lover or a child! 

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, 
September 3, 1802 

Earth has not anything to show more fair : 

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 

A sight so touching in its majesty : 

This City now doth, like a garment, wear 

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, 5 

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 

Open unto the fields, and to the sky; 

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 

Never did sun more beautifully steep 

In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill; 10 

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! 



,y^ 



330 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

The river glideth at his own sweet will: 
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 

COMPOSED UPON THE BEACH, NEAR CALAIS, 
August, 1802 

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free; 
The holy time is quiet as a Nun 
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun 
-" Is sinking down in its tranquillity; 

The gentleness of heaven broods o'er Sea. 5 

Listen! the mighty Being is awake, 

And doth with his eternal motion make 

A sound like thunder — everlastingly. 

Dear Child ! dear Girl ! that walkest with me here, 

If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, 10 

Thy nature is not therefore less divine. 

Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year ; 

And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine, 

God being with thee when we know it not. 

"THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US" 

(1806) 

The world is too much with us : late and soon. 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : 
Little we see in Nature that is ours; 
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! 
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; 5 
The winds that will be howling at all hours, 
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; 
For this, for everything, we are out of tune; 
It moves us not. — Great God! I'd rather be 
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 10 

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea. 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 



SAMUEL TAYLOB COLERIDGE 



331 



Samuel XTa^lor (roleri^ge 

1772-1834 
THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 

IN SEVEN PARTS 

(From the Lyrical Ballads, 1798) 
Argument 

How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by 
storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; 
and how from thence she made her course to the tropi- 
cal Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the 
strange things that befell; and in what manner the 
Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country. 



An ancient Ma- 
riner raeeteth 
three Gallants 
bidden to a wed- 
ding-feast, and 
detaineth one. 



PART I. 

It is an ancient Mariner, 

And he stoppeth one of three, 

* By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, 

Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? 

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 
And I am next of kin; 6 

The guests are met, the feast is set : 
May'st hear the merry din.' 

He holds him with his skinny hand, 
' There was a ship,' quoth he. 10 

' Hold off ! unhand me, gray-beard loon ! ' 
Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 



The Wedding- 
Guest is spell- 
bound by the 
eye of the old , i -i j t g' 

seafaring man, And listens like a three years cnild: 15 
to heTr^hiriafe. The Mariner hath his will. 



He holds him with his glittering eye — 
The Wedding-Guest stood still. 



332 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: 
He cannot choose but hear; 
And thus spake on that ancient man, 
The bright-eyes Mariner. 20 



The Mariner 
tells how the 
ship sailed 
southward with 
agood wind and 
fair weather, till 
it reached the 
line. 



* The ship was cheered, the harbour 

cleared. 
Merrily did we drop 
Below the kirk, below the hill, 
Below the lighthouse top. 

The sun came up upon the left 25 

Out of the sea came he ! 
And he shone bright, and on the right 
Went down into the sea. 

Higher and higher every day. 
Till over the mast at noon — ' 30 

The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, 
For he heard the loud bassoon. 



The bride hath paced into the hall, 
Ked as a rose is she; 



The Wedding- 
Guest heareth 
the bridal mu- 

Mariner c?n- Nodding their heads before her goes 
tinueth his tale. The merry minstrelsy. 



35 



The ship driven 
by a storm to- 
ward the south 
pole. 



The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast. 
Yet he cannot choose but hear; 
And thus spake on that ancient man. 
The bright-eyed Mariner. 40 

' And now the Storm-blast came, and he 
Was tyrannous and strong: 
He struck with his o'ertaking wings, 
And chased us south along. 



« 



With sloping masts and dipping prow. 
As who pursued with yell and blow 



45 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



333 



Still treads the shadow of his foe, 
And forward bends his head, 
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast. 
And southward aye we fled. 50 

And now there came both mist and snow 
And it grew wondrous cold: 
And ice, mast-high, came floating by, 
As green as emerald. 



The land of ice, 
and of fearful 
sounds where 
no living thing 
was to be seen. 



And through the drifts the snowy 
clifts 55 

Did send a dismal sheen : 
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken — 
The ice was all between. 



The ice was here, the ice was there, 

The ice was all around: 60 

It cracked and growled, and roared and 

howled, 
Like noises in a swound! 



Till a great sea- 
bird, called the 
Albatross, came 
through the 
snow-fog, and 
was received 
with great joy 
and hospitality. 



Andio! the Al- 
batross proveth 
a bird of good 
omen, and fol- 
loweth the ship 
as it returned 
northward 
through fog and 
floating ice. 



At length did cross an Albatross, 
Thorough the fog it came; 
As if it had been a Christian soul, 65 
We hailed it in God's name. 

It ate the food it ne'er had eat. 

And round and round it flew. 

The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; 

The helmsman steered us through! 70 

And a good south wind sprung up behind ; 
The Albatross did follow, 
And every day, for food or play, 
Came to the mariners' hollo! 



334 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 75 

It perched for vespers nine; 

Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke 

white, 
Glimmered the white moon-shine.' 



The ancient Ma- 
riner inhospita- 
bly killeth the 
pioue bird of 
good omen. 



' God save thee, ancient Mariner ! 

From the fiends, that plague thee 
thus !— 80 

Why look'st thou so ? ' — With my cross- 
bow 

I shot the Albatross. 



PABT II. 

The Sun now rose upon the right; 
Out of the sea came he. 
Still hid in mist, and on the left 85 

Went down into the sea. 

And the good south wind still blew behind. 

But no sweet bird did follow. 

Nor any day for food or play 

Came to the mariners' hollo! 90 



His shipmates 
cry out against 
the ancient Ma- 
riner, for killing 
the bird of good 
luck. 



And I had done a hellish thing. 

And it would work 'em woe : 

For all averred, I had killed the bird 

That made the breeze to blow. 

Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, 95 

That made the breeze to blow ! 



But when the 
fog cleared off, 
they justify the 
same, and thus 
make them- 
selves accom- 
plices in the 
crime. 



Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, 
The glorious Sun uprist: 
Then all averred, I had killed the bird 
That brought the fog and mist. 100 

'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, 
That bring the fog and mist. 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



335 



The fair breeze 
continues ; the 
ship enters the 
Pacific Ocean, 
and sails north- 
ward, even till it 
reaches the 
line. 

The ship hath 
been suddenly 
becalmed. 



The fair breeze blew, the white loam flew, 
The furrow followed free; 
We were the first that ever burst 3 05 

Into that silent sea. 

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt 

down, 
'Twas sad as sad could be; 
And we did speak only to break 
The silence of the sea! 110 



All in a hot and copper sky. 

The bloody Sun, at noon, 

Eight up above the mast did stand, 

'No bigger than the Moon. 



Day after day, day after day, 
We stuck, nor breath nor motion 
As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 



115 



And the Alba- 
tross begins to 
be avenged. 



Water, water, everywhere, 
And all the boards did shrink: 
Water, water, everywhere 
Nor any drop to drink. 



120 



The very deep did rot : O Christ ! 
That ever this should be! 
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 125 
Upon the slimy sea. 



About, about, in reel and rout 
The death-fires danced at night; 
The water, like a witch's oils, 
Burnt green, and blue, and white. 



130 



336 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



A spirit had fol- 
lowed them ; 
one of the in- 
visible inhabi- 
tants of this 
planet, neither 
departed souls 
nor angels; con- 
cerning whom 
the learned Jew, 
Josephus, and 
the Platonic 
Constantino- 
politan Michael 
Pselius, may be 
consu ted. They 
are very numer- 
ous, and there is 
no climate or 
element without 
one or more. 

The shipmates, 
in their sore dis- 
tress, would fain 
throw the whole 
guilt on the an- 
cient Mariner : 
in sign whereof 
they hang the 
dead sea-bird 
round his necli. 



Tlie ancient Ma- 
riner behoideth 
a sign in the 
element afar off. 



And some in dreams assured were 
Of the Spirit that plagued us so 
Nine fathom deep he had followed us 
From the land of mist and snow. 

And every tongue, through utter 
drought, , 135 

Was withered at the root; 
We could not speak, no more than if 
We had been choked with soot. 

Ah ! well-a-day ! what evil looks 
Had I from old and young! 140 

Instead of the cross, the Albatross 
About my neck was hung. 

PART III. 

There passed a weary time. Each throat 

Was parched, and glazed each eye. 

A weary time! a weary time! 145 

How glazed each weary eye, 

When looking westward, I beheld 

A something in the sky. 

At first it seemed a little speck, 
And then it seemed a mist; 150 

It moved and moved, and took at last 
A certain shape, I wist. 



A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! 
And still it neared and neared: 
As if it dodged a water-sprite. 
It plunged and tacked and veered. 



155 



With throats unslaked, with black lips 
baked, 



At its nearer ap- 
proach, itseem- 
eth him to be a 

deS'ran°om^Ve We could nor laugh nor wail; 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 337 

8p?edi^f mm the Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! 
bonds Of thiret. I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, 160 

And cried, A sail! a sail! 

With throats unslaked, with black lips 

baked. 
Agape they heard me call: 
A flash of joy. Gramercy ! they for joy did grin, 

And all at once their breath drew in, 165 
As they were drinking all. 



^w8;7o?ca!fit ^^^- s^®- ^^ ^^*ie^) s^e tacks no more! 
be a ship that Hither to work us weal ; 

Without a breeze, without a tide. 



comes onward 
without wind or 



^'^^ ^ She steadies with upright keel ! 170 



The western wave was all a-flame. 
The day was well-nigh done ! 
Almost upon the western wave 
Rested the broad bright Sun; 
When that strange shape drove sud- 
denly 175 
Betwixt us and the Sun. 

buftr^skei"!^ And straight the Sun was flecked with 

ton of a ship. bars, 

(Heaven's Mother send us grace!) 

As if through a dungeon-grate he peered 

With broad and burning face. 180 

Alas ! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) 
How fast she nears and nears ! 
Are those her sails that glance in the sun. 
Like restless gossameres? 



338 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



And its ribs are 
seen as bars on 
the face of the 
setting Sun. 
The Spectre- 
Woman and her 
death-mate, and 
no other on 
board the skele- 
ton ship. Like 
vessel, like 
crew 1 



Are those her ribs through which the 
sun 185 

Did peer, as through a grate? 
And is that Woman all her crew ? 
Is that a Death? and are there two? 
Is Death that woman's mate? 

Her lips were red, her looks were free, 190 

Her locks were yellow as gold : 

Her skin was as white as leprosy. 

The Night-mare Life-in-Death was she, 

Who thicks man's blood with cold. 



Death and Life- 
in-Death have 
diced for the 
ship's crew, and 
she (the latter) 
winneth the an- 
cient Mariner. 



The naked hulk alongside came, 195 

And the twain were casting dice; 
' The game is done ! I've won ! I've won ! ' 
Quoth she, and whistles thrice. 



No twilight 
within the 
courts of the 
Sun. 



The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out; 
At one stride comes the dark; 200 

With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, 
Off shot the spectre-bark. 



At the rising of 
the Moon, 



We listened and looked sideways up! 
Fear at my heart, as at a cup. 
My life-blood seemed to sip! 205 

The stars were dim, and thick the night. 
The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed 

white ; 
From the sails the dew did drip — 
Till clomb above the eastern bar 
The horned Moon, with one bright 

star 210 

Within the nether tip. 



one after an- 
other; 



One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, 
Too quick for groan or sigh, 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



339 



Each turned his face with a ghastly pang. 
And cursed me with his eye. 215 



his shipmates 
drop down 
dead. 



Four times fifty living men, 
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan) 
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump. 
They dropped down one by one. 



Death iegfns ^^he souls did from their bodies fly,— 220 
her work on the They fled to bliss or woe ! 

ancient Ma- a j i . 

riner. And every soul, it passed me by. 

Like the whizz of my cross-bow! 



The Wedding- 
Guest feareth 
that a spirit is 
talking to him 



PART IV. 

^ I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! 
I fear thy skinny hand! 225 

And thou art long, and lank, and brown. 
As is the ribbed sea-sand. 



but the ancient 
Mariner as- 
pureth him of 
his bodily life, 
and proceedeth 
to relate his 
horrible pen- 
ance. 



I fear thee and thy glittering eye. 
And thy skinny hand, so brown.' — 
Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding- 



Guest ! 
This body dropt not down. 

Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
Alone on a wide wide sea! 
And never a saint took pity on 
My soul in agonf. 



230 



235 



SecSrS of The many men, so beautiful! 
the calm. And they all dead did lie: 

And a thousand thousand slimy things 

Lived on; and so did L 



340 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



and envieth 
that they should 
live, and eo 
many lie dead. 



I looked upon the rotting sea, 
And drew my eyes away; 
I looked upon the rotting deck. 
And there the dead men lay. 



240 



I looked to heaven, and tried to pray ; 
But or ever a prayer had gusht, 
A wicked whisper came, and made 
My heart as dry as dust. 



245 



I closed my lids, and kept them close. 
And the balls like pulses beat; 
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and 
the sky 250 

Lay like a load on my weary eye, 
And the dead were at my feet. 



The cold sweat melted from their limbs. 



But the curee 

liveth for him i t i i 

in the eye of the JN or rot nor reek did they : 
dead men. ^j^^ j^^j^ ^.^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ 

me 



looked on 
255 



Had never passed away. 



In hislonelinees 
and fixedness he 
yearneth to- 
wards the jour- 
neying Moon, 
and the stars 
that still so- 
journ, yet still 
move onward ; 
and everywhere 
the blue sky be- 
longs to them, 
and is their ap- 
pointed rest, 
and their native 
country and 
their own natu- 
ral homes, 
which they en- 
ter unan- 
nounced, as 



An orphan's curse would drag to hell 

A spirit from on high; 

But oh ! more horrible than that 

Is a curse in a dead man's eye ! 260 

Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, 

And yet I could not die. 



The moving Moon went up the sky. 
And nowhere did abide: 
Softly she was going up. 
And a star or two beside — 

Her beams bemocked the sultry main. 
Like April hoar-frost spread; 



265 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDaE 



341 



But where the ship's huge shadow lay, 
The charmed water burnt alway 270 



Beyond the shadow of the ship, 



lords that are 
certainly ex- 
pected and yet 
there is a silent * j.'ii j -c i j 

joy at their ar- A still and awiul red. 

rival. 

By the light of 
the Moon he 



behoideth God's I watched the water-snakes : 



creatures of the 
great calm. 



They moved in tracks of shining white, 
And when they reared, the elfish light 275 
Fell off in hoary flakes. 



Within the shadow of the ship 
I watched their rich attire: 
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, 
They coiled and swam; and every 
track 280 

Was a flash of golden fire. 



Their beauty 
and their happi- 



ne blesseth 
them in his 
heart. 



O happy living things ! no tongue 
Their beauty might declare : 
A spring of love gushed from my heart. 
And I blessed them unaware: 285 

Sure my kind saint took pity on me. 
And I blessed them unaware. 



^he spell begins rj.^^ selfsame moment I could pray; 



to break 



And from my neck so free 
The Albatross fell off, and sank 
Like lead into the sea. 



290 



PABT V. 

Oh sleep ! it is a gentle thing. 
Beloved from pole to pole ! 
To Mary Queen the praise be given ! 
She sent the gentle sleep from 
heaven, 295 

That slid into my soul. 



342 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



By grace of the 
holy Mother, 
the ancient Ma- 
freshed wi'th I dreamt that they were filled with dew; 
^^^^- And when I awoke, it rained. 300 



The silly buckets on the deck. 
That had so long remained. 



My lips were wet, my throat was cold, 
My garments all were dank; 
Sure I had drunken in my dreams, 
And still my body drank. 

I moved, and could not feel my limbs : 305 
I was so light — almost 
I thought that I had died in sleep. 
And was a blessed ghost. 



He heareth 
sounds and 
neelh strange 
eights and com- 
motions in the 
sky and the ele- 
ment. 



And soon I heard a roaring wind : 
It did not come anear; 
But with its sound it shook the sails, 
That were so thin and sere. 



310 



The upper air burst into life! 
And a hundred fire-flags sheen, 
To and fro they were hurried about ! 315 
And to and fro, and in and out. 
The wan stars danced between. 
And the coming wind did roar more loud. 
And the sails did sigh like sedge ; 
And the rain poured down from one black 
cloud; 320 

The Moon was at its edge. 



The thick black cloud was cleft, and still 
The Moon was at its side : 
Like waters shot from some high crag. 
The lightning fell with never a jag, 325 
A river steep and wide. 



SAMUEL TAYLOE COLEEIBGE 



343 



ttie^hip'rcfew T^® 1^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ reached the ship, 

are inspired, and Yet now the ship moved Oil! 

onV '^ °^°^^® Beneath the lightning and the Moon 

The dead men gave a groan. 330 

They groaned, they stirred, they all up- 
rose, 
ISTor spake, nor moved their eyes ; 
It had been strange, even in a dream, 
To have seen those dead men rise. 

The helmsman steered, the ship moved 
on; 335 

Yet never a breeze up blew; 

The mariners all 'gan work th© ropes. 

Where they were wont to do ; 

They raised their limbs like lifeless 
tools — 

We were a ghastly crew. 340 

The body of my brother's son 
Stood by me, knee to knee : 
The body and I pulled at one rope 
But he said nought to me. 



but not by the 

souls of the 
men, nor by 
daemons of 
earth or middle 
air, but by a 
blessed troop of 
angelic spirits, 
sent down by 
the invocation 
of the guardian 
saint. 



' I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! ' 345 

Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest! 
'Twas not those souls that fled in pain. 
Which to their corses came again, 
But a troop of spirits blest : 

For when it dawned — they dropped their 
arms, 350 

And clustered round the mast; 

Sweet sounds rose slowly through their 
mouths. 

And from their bodies passed. 



344 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



Around, around, flew each sweet sound, 
Then darted to the Sun; 355 

Slowly the sounds came back again. 
Now mixed, now one by one. 

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 
I heard the sky-lark sing; 
Sometimes all little birds that are, 360 
How they seemed to fill the sea and air 
With their sweet jargoning! 



And now 'twas like all instruments, 
Now like a lonely flute ; 
And now it is an angel's song. 
That makes the heavens be mute. 



365 



It ceased; yet still the sails made on 

A pleasant noise till noon, 

A noise like of a hidden brook 

In the leafy month of June, 370 

That to the sleeping woods all night 

Singeth a quiet tune. 



Till noon we quietly sailed on. 
Yet never a breeze did breathe: 
Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 
Moved onward from beneath. 



375 



The lonesome 
Spirit from the 
south-pole car- 
ries on the ship 
as far as the 
line, in obedi- 
ence to the 
angelic troop, 
but still re- 
quireth ven- 
geance. 



Under the keel nine fathom deep. 

From the land of mist and snow. 

The spirit slid : and it was he 

That made the ship to go. 380 

The sails at noon left off their tune. 

And the ship stood still also. 

The Sun, right up above the mast, 
Had fixed her to the ocean : 



SAMUEL TAYLOE COLERIDGE 



345 



The Polar 
Spirit's fellow- 
dgeraons, the in- 
visible inhabi- 
tants of the ele- 
ment, take part 
in his wrong ; 
and two of them 
relate one to the 
other, that pen- 
ance long and 
heavy for the 
ancient Mariner 
hath been ac- 
corded to the 
Polar Spirit, 
whoreturneth 
southward. 



But in a minute she 'gan stir, 385 

With a short uneasy motion — 
Backwards and forwards half her length 
With a short uneasy motion. 

Then like a pawing horse let go, 

She made a sudden bound : 390 

It flung the blood into my head, 

And I fell down in a swound. 

How long in that same fit I lay, 

I have not to declare; 

But ere my living life returned, 395 

I heard and in my soul discerned, 

Two voices in the air. 

' Is it he ? ' quoth one, * Is this the man ? 
By Him who died on cross. 
With his cruel bow he laid full low 400 
The harmless Albatross. 

' The spirit who bideth by himself 

In the land of mist and snow. 

He loved the bird that loved the man 

Who shot him with his bow.' 405 

The other was a softer voice. 

As soft as honey-dew: 

Quoth he, ' The man hath penance done, 

And penance more will do.' 



FART VL 

FIRST VOICE 

* But tell me, tell me ! speak again, 410 
Thy soft response renewing — 
What makes that ship drive on so fast? 
What is the ocean doing ? ' 



346 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



SECOND VOICE 



* Still as a slave before his lord, 
The ocean hath no blast ; 
His great bright eye most silently 
Up to the Moon is cast — 



415 



If he may know which way to go; 
For she guides him smooth or grim. 
See, brother, see! how graciously 
She looketh down on him.' 



420 



The Mariner 
hath been cast 
into a trance ; 
for Ihe angelic 
power causeth 
the vessel to 
drive northward 
faster than hu- 
man life could 
endure. 



FIKST VOICE 

' But why drives on that ship so fast, 
Without or wave or wind ? ' 



SECOND VOICE 

* The air is cut away before, 
And closes from behind. 



425 



Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high! 
Or we shall be belated: 
For slow and slow that ship will go, 
When the Mariner's trance is abated.' 



The supernatu- 
ral motion is re- 
tarded ; the Ma- 
riner awakes, 
and his penance 
begins anew. 



I woke, and we were sailing on 430 

As in a gentle weather: 

'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was 

high. 
The dead men stood together. 



All stood together on the deck, 
For a charnel-dungeon fitter: 
All fixed on me their stony eyes. 
That in the Moon did glitter. 



435 



SAMUEL TAYLOK COLEEIDGE 



347 



The pang, the curse, with which they died, 
Had never passed away: 
I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 440 
Nor turn them up to pray. 

And now this spell was snapt : once more 

finally" expiated. ^ ^^^^^^ *^^ ^^^^^ g^^en, 

And looked far forth, yet little saw 

Of what had else been seen — 445 

Like one, that on a lonesome road 

Doth walk in fear and dread, 

And having once turned round walks on. 

And turns no more his head; 

Because he knows, a frightful fiend 450 

Doth close behind him tread. 

But soon there breathed a wind on me, 

Nor sound nor motion made: 

Its path was not upon the sea, 

In ripple or in shade. 455 

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek 
Like a meadow-gale of spring — 
It mingled strangely with my fears. 
Yet it felt like a welcoming. 



Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship. 
Yet she sailed softly too : 
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — 
On me alone it blew. 



460 



Mariiefbr'""* Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed 
hoideth his na- The lighthouse top I see ? 

Is this the hill? is this the kirk? 

Is this mine own countree? 



tive country. 



465 



348 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



We drifted o'er the harbour-bar. 
And I with sobs did pray — 
O let me be awake, my God! 
Or let me sleep alway. 



470 



The harbour-bay was clear as glass. 
So smoothly it was strewn! 
And on the bay the moonlight lay. 
And the shadow of the Moon. 



475 



'J he angelic 
spirits leave the 
dead bodies. 



The rock shone bright, the kirk no less. 
That stands above the rock: 
The moonlight steeped in silentness 
The steady weathercock. 



And 



was white with 



the bay 

light 

Till rising from the same, 
Full many shapes, that shadows were. 
In crimson colours came. 



silent 
480 



and appear in A little distance from the prow 

their own forms —,, . , , 

of light. ihose crimson shadows were: 

I turned my eyes upon the deck — 
Oh Christ ! what saw I there ! 



485 



Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat. 
And, by the holy rood! 
A man all light, a seraph-man. 
On every corse there stood. 



490 



This seraph-band, each waved his hand: 

It was a heavenly sight! 

They stood as signals to the land. 

Each one a lovely light; 495 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand, 
No voice did they impart — 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 349 

No voice; but oh! the silence sank 
Like music on my heart. 

But soon I heard the dash of oars, 500 

I heard the Pilot's cheer; 

My head was turned perforce away, 

And I saw a boat appear. 

The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, 

I heard them coming fast: 505 

Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy 

The dead men could not blast. 

I saw a third — I heard his voice: 

It is the Hermit good ! 

He singeth loud his godly hymns 510 

That he makes in the wood. 

He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away 

The Albatross's blood. 

PART VIL 

?he^vJ^oT'' ^'^ ^^^^ Hermit good lives in that wood 

Which slopes down to the sea. 515 

How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! 
He loves to talk with marineres 
That come from a far countree. 

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve — 
He hath a cushion plump : 520 

It is the moss that wholly hides 
The rotted old oak-stump. 

The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk, 
' Why, this is strange, I trow ! 
Where are those lights so many and 
fair, 525 

That signal made but now ? ' 



350 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



approacheth 
the ship with 
wonder. 



' Strange, by my faith ! ' the Hermit 

said — 
* And they answered not our cheer ! 
The planks look warped! and see those 

sails, 
How thin they are and sere! 530 

I never saw aught like to them, 
Unless perchance it were 

' Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 
My forest-brook along; 
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 535 
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, 
That eats the she-wolf's young.' 



The ship sud- 
denly sinketh. 



The ancient 
Mariner is faved 
in the Pilot's 
boat. 



* Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look — 
(The Pilot made reply) 
I am a-f eared ' — ' Push on, push on ! ' 540 
Said the Hermit cheerily. 

The boat came closer to the ship, 

But I nor spake nor stirred; 

The boat came close beneath the ship. 

And straight a sound was heard. 545 

Under the water it rumbled on, 
Still louder and more dread: 
It reached the ship, it split the bay; 
The ship went down like lead. 



that loud and 



dreadful 
550 



Stunned by 

sound. 

Which sky and ocean smote. 
Like one that hath been seven days 

drowned 
My body lay afloat; 
But swift as dreams, myself I found 
Within the Pilot's boat. 555 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



351 



Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, 
The boat spun round and round ; 
And all was still, save that the hill 
Was telling of the sound. 

I moved my lips — the Pilot shrieked 560 
And fell down in a fit; 
The holy Hermit raised his eyes, 
And prayed where he did sit. 

I took the oars : the Pilot's boy. 

Who now doth crazy go, 565 

Laughed loud and long, and all the while 

His eyes went to and fro. 

^ Ha ! ha ! ' quoth he, ^ full plain I see, 

The Devil knows how to row.' 

And now, all in my own countree, 570 
I stood on the firm land! 
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, 
And scarcely he could stand. 



The ancient 
Mariner earn- 
estly entreateth 
the Hermit to 
ehrieve him ; 
and the penance 
of life falls on 
him. 



And ever and 
anon through- 
out his future 
life an agony 
constraineth 
him to travel 
from land to 
land, 



' O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man ! ' 
The Hermit crossed his brow. 575 

' Say quick,' quoth he, ' I bid thee say — 
What manner of man art thou ? ' 

Forthwith this frame of mine was 

wrenched 
With a woful agony. 

Which forced me to begin my tale; 580 
And then it left me free. 

Since then, at an uncertain hour. 

That agony returns: 

And till my ghastly tale is told, 

This heart within me burns. 585 



352 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



I pass, like night, from land to land; 

I have strange power of speech; 

That moment that his face I see, 

I know the man that must hear me : 

To him my tale I teach. 590 

What loud uproar bursts from that door ! 

The wedding-guests are there: 

But in the garden-bower the bride 

And bride-maids singing are: 

And hark the little vesper bell, 595 

Which biddeth me to prayer ! 

O Wedding-Guest ! this soul hath been 
Alone on a wide, wide sea: 
So lonely 'twas, that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 600 

O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
'Tis sweeter far to me. 
To walk together to the kirk 
With a goodly company! — 



To walk together to the kirk, 605 

And all together pray. 
While each to his great Father bends. 
Old men, and babes, and loving friends 
And youths and maidens gay! 



by his own 'ex- Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell 

?e"Jelenc'r^ ^"*^ To thee, thou Wedding-Gucst ! 

to all things He prayeth well, who loveth well 

that God made -r-. , i i i • i i i , 

and loveth. -Both man and bird and beast. 



610 



He prayeth best, who loveth best 
All things both great and small; 
For the dear God who loveth us. 
He made and loveth all. 



615 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 353 

The Mariner, whose eye is bright, 
Whose beard with age is hoar, 
b^O is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest 
iurned from the bridegroom's door. 

He went like one that hath been stunned. 
And IS of sense forlorn : 
A sadder and a wiser man, 
625 He rose the morrow morn. 



THE GOOD GREAT MAN 

(1802) 
COMPLAINT 

IHow seldom, friend! a good great man inherits 
Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains! 
It sounds like stories from the land of spirits 
it any man obtain that which he merits 
5 Or any merit that which he obtains.' 

REPLY 

For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting 
strain ! 

What would'st thou have a good great man ob- 

tain? 
Place? titles? salary? a gilded chain? 
Or throne of corses which his sword had slain ? 
u f u^^^ ^"^^ goodness are not means, but e^ids^ 
Hath he not always treasures, always friends 
The good great man? three treasures, love and 

LIGHT, 

And CALM THOUCxHTS, regular as infants' breath- 
And three firm friends, more sure than day and 
night — 
15 Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death! 



354 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

YOUTH AND AGE 

(1822-1832) 

Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying, 
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee- 



Both were mine! Life went a-maying 
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 
5 When I was young! 

WJie?i I was young? — Ah, woful When! 
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then! 
This breathing house not built with hands, 
This body that does me grievous wrong, 

10 O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands. 
How lightly then it flashed along: — 
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, 
On winding lakes and rivers wide. 
That ask no aid of sail or oar, 

15 That fear no spite of wind or tide! 

Nought cared this body for wind or weather 
When Youth and I lived in't together. 

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; 
Friendship is a sheltering tree; 
20 O ! the joys, that came down shower-like, 
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, 
Ere I was old. 

Ere I was old? Oh woful Ere, 

Which tells me, Youth's no longer here! 

25 O Youth ! for years so many and sweet, 
*Tis known, that Thou and I were one, 
I'll think it but a fond conceit — 
It cannot be that Thou art gone! 
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd: — 

30 And thou wert aye a masker bold! 

What strange disguise hast now put on. 
To mahe believe, that Thou art gone? 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 365 

I see these locks in silvery slips, 
This drooping gait, this altered size: 
35 But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips 
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! 
Life is but thought: so think I will 
That Youth and I are house-mates still. 

Dew-drops are the gems of morning, 
40 But the tears of mournful eve! 

Where no hope is, life's a warning 

That only serves to make us grieve. 
When we are old: 

That only serves to make us grieve 
45 With oft and tedious taking-leave. 

Like some poor nigh-related guest, 

That may not rudely be dismist; 

Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while, 

And tells the jest without the smile. 

WORK WITHOUT HOPE 

(February 21st, 1827) 

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their 

lair — 
The bees are stirring — birds are on the wing — 
And Winter slumbering in the open air, 
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring! 
5 And I the while, the sole unbusy thing, 

Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing. 
Yet well I ken the banks where amarantlis 
blow. 
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar 

flow. 
Bloom, O ye amaranths ! bloom for whom ye may, 
10 For me ye bloom not ! Glide, rich streams, away ! 
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll : 



356 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

And would you learn the spells that drowse my 

soul? 
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve, 
And Hope without an object cannot live. 



IRobert Soutbei? 

1774-1843 

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM 

(Written at Westbury, 1798) 



It was a summer evening, 
. Old Kaspar's work was done, 
And he before his cottage door 
Was sitting in the sun, 
6 And by him sported on the green 
His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 

II. 

She saw her brother Peterkin 

Eoll something large and round. 
Which he beside the rivulet 
10 In playing there had found; 

He came to ask what he had found, 
That was so large, and smooth, and round. 

III. 

Old Kaspar took it from the boy. 

Who stood expectant by; 
15 And then the old man shook his head, 

And with a natural sigh, 
" 'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, 
"Who fell in the great victory. 



I 



EOBEET SOUTHEY 35*7 



IV. 



"I find them in the garden, 
20 For there's many hereabout; 
And often when I go to plough, 
The ploughshare turns them out! 
For many thousand men," said he, 
" Were slain in that great victory." 

V. 

25 " Now tell us what 't was all about," 
Young Peterkin, he cries; 
And little Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder-waiting eyes; 
" ISTow tell us all- about the war, 
30 And what they fought each other for." 

VI. 

"It was the English," Kaspar cried, 
" Who put the French to rout ; 

But what they fought each other for, 
I could not well make out; 
35 But every body said," quoth he, 
" That 'twas a famous victory. 

VII. 

" My father lived at Blenheim then, 

Yon little stream hard by; 
They burnt his dwelling to the ground, 
40 And he was forced to fly; 

So with his wife and child he fled, 
Nor had he where to rest his head. 

VIII. 

"With fire and sword the country round 
Was wasted far and wide, 
45 And many a childing mother then 



358 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

And new-born baby died; 
But things like that, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 

IX. 

" They say it was a shocking sight 
50 After the field was won; 

For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun; 
But things like that, you know, must be 
After a famous victory. 

X. 

55 " Great praise the Duke of Marlboro' won, 
And our good Prince Eugene." 
" Why 'twas a very wicked thing ! " 

Said little Wilhelmine. 
"Nay . . nay . . my little girl," quoth he, 
60 " It was a famous victory. 

XI. 

" And every body praised the Duke 

Who this great fight did win." 
" But what good came of it at last ? " 
Quoth little Peterkin. 
65 "Why tliat I cannot tell," said he, 
" But 'twas a famous victory." 



MY DAYS AMONG THE DEAD ARE PAST 

-(Wxitten at Keswick, 1818) 

.'I. ^ ' 

My days among the Dead are past; 

Around me I behold. 
Where'er these casual eyes are cast. 



ROBERT SOUTHEY 359 

The mighty minds of old; 
5 My never-failing friends are they. 
With whom I converse day by day. 

II. 

With them I take delight in weal. 

And seek relief in woe; 
And while I understand and feel 
10 How much to them I owe, 

My cheeks have often been bedew'd 
With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 

III. 

My thoughts are with the Dead; with them 

I live in long-past years; 
15 Their virtues love, their faults condemn. 

Partake their hopes and fears, 
And from their lessons seek and find 
Instruction with an humble mind. 

IV. 

My hopes are with the Dead; anon 
20 My place with them will be, 

And I with them shall travel on 

Through all Futurity: 
Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 
That will not perish with the dust. 



360 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

3osepb :«Slanco Mbite 

1775-1841 
SONNET TO NIGHT 

(First published 1828) 

Mysterious Night ! when our first parent knew 
Thee by report Divine, and heard thy name, 
Did he not tremble for this goodly frame. 
This glorious canopy of light and blue? 
5 But through a curtain of translucent dew, 
Bathed in the hues of the great setting flame, 
Hesperus with the Host of Heaven came. 
And lo ! creation broadened to man's view. 
Who could have guessed such darkness lay con- 
cealed 
10 Within thy beams, O Sun ! or who divined 

Whilst bud, and flower, and insect stood revealed. 
Thou to such countless worlds hadst made us 

blind? 
Why should we, then, shun death with anxious 

strife. 
If Light conceals so much, wherefore not Life? 

Sir Malter Scott 

1771-1832 
HAROLD'S SONG TO ROSABELLE 

(From Lay of the Last Minstrel) 

CANTO VI.-XXIII. 

(1805) 

" O listen, listen, ladies gay ! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay. 

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 



WALTER SCOTT 36 1 

5 " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! 
And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! 
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

" The blackening wave is edged with white ; 
10 To inch and rock the sea-mews fly; 

The fishes have heard the Water-Sprite, 

Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh. 

"Last night the gifted Seer did view 

A wet shrowd swathed round ladye gay; 
15 Then stay thee. Fair, in Ravensheuch: 

Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? " — 

" 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 

To-night at Roslin leads the ball. 
But that my ladye-mother there 
20 Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

" 'Tis not because the ring they ride. 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well. 

But that my sire the wine will chide, 
If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle.— " 

25 O'er Roslin all that dreary night, 

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 
'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light. 
And redder than the bright moonbeam. 

It glared on Roslin's castled rock, 
30 It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 

'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak. 
And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden. 

Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud. 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie, 
35 Each Baron, for a sable shroud, 

Sheathed in his iron panoply. 



362 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Seem'd all on fire within, around, 

Deep sacristy and altar's pale; 
Shone every pillar foliage bound, 
40 And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail. 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high. 

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — 

So still they blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly line of high St. Clair. 

45 There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 

Lie buried within that proud chapelle; 
Each one the holy vault doth hold — 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle! 

And each St. Clair was buried there, 
50 With candle, with book, and with knell; 

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung. 
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 



BALLAD 

ALICE BRAND 

(From The Lady of the Lake, 1810) 

CANTO IV. 
XII. 

Merry it is in the good greenwood. 

When the mavis and merle are singing. 
When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in 
cry. 
And the hunter's horn is ringing. 

" O Alice Brand, my native land 

Is lost for love of you; 
And we must hold by wood and wold. 

As outlaws wont to do. 



WALTER SCOTT 363 

" O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright, 
10 And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue. 
That on the night of our luckless flight, 
Thy brother bold I slew. 

" Now must I teach to hew the beech 
The hand that held the glave, 
15 For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 
And stakes to fence our cave. 

" And for vest of pall, thy fingers small. 

That wont on harp to stray, 
A cloak must shear from the slaughter'd deer, 
20 To keep the cold away." 

" O Richard ! if my brother died, 

'Twas but a fatal chance; 
For darkling was the battle tried. 

And fortune sped the lance. 

25 " If pall and vair no more I wear, 
Nor thou the crimson sheen. 
As warm, we'll say, is the russet grey, 
As gay the forest green. 

" And, Richard, if our lot be hard, 
30 And lost thy native land. 

Still Alice has her own Richard, 
And he his Alice Brand." 

XIII. 

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. 
So blithe Lady Alice is singing; 
35 On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, 
Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 



364 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Up spoke the moody Elfin King, 
Who won'd within the hill, — 
Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church, 
40 His voice was ghostly shrill. 

"Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak. 

Our moonlight circle's screen? 
Or who comes here to chase the deer. 

Beloved of our Elfin Queen? 
45 Or who may dare on wold to wear 

The fairies' fatal green? 

" Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie, 

For thou wert christen'd man ; 
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, 
50 For mutter'd word or ban. 

" Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, 

The curse of the sleepless eye; 
Till he wish and pray that his life would part, 

Nor yet find leave to die." 

XIV. 

55 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, 

Though the birds have still'd their singing; 
The evening blaze doth Alice raise. 
And Richard is fagots bringing. 

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, 
60 Before Lord Richard stands, 

And, as he cross'd and bless'd himself, 
" I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, 
" That is made with bloody hands." 

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 
65 That woman void of fear, — 

" And if there's blood upon his hand, 
'Tis but the blood of deer."— 



WALTER SCOTT 365 

'* Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood ! 
It cleaves unto his hand, 
70 The stain of thine own kindly blood, 
The blood of Ethert Brand." 

Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, 

And made the holy sign, — 
" And if there's blood on Richard's hand, 
75 A spotless hand is mine. 

" And I conjure thee, Demon elf. 

By Him whom Demons fear, 
To show us whence thou art thyself. 

And what thine errand here ? " — 



XV. 

80 " 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land, 
When fairy birds are singing, 
When the court doth ride by their monarch'^ side, 
With bit and bridle ringing: 

" And gaily shines the Fairy-land — 
85 But all is glistening show, 

Like the idle gleam that December's beam 
Can dart on ice and snow. 

" And fading, like that varied gleam, 
Is our inconstant shape, 
90 Who now like knight and lady seem. 
And now like dwarf and ape. 

" It was between the night and day. 

When the Fairy King has power. 
That I sunk down in a sinful fray, 
95 And, 'twixt life and death, was snatch'd away, 

To the joyless Elfin bower. 



366 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

" But wist I of a woman bold, 

Who thrice my brow durst sign, 
I might regain my mortal mold, 
100 As fair a form as thine." 

She eross'd him once — she cross'd him twice — 

That lady was so brave; 
The fouler grew his goblin hue. 

The darker grew the cave. 

105 She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold; 
He rose beneath her hand 
The fairest knight on Scottish mold, 
Her brother, Ethert Brand! 

Merry it is in good greenwood, 
110 When the mavis and merle are singing, 
But merrier were they in Dunfermeline gray 
When all the bells were ringing. 

EDMUND'S SONG 

(From liokehy, 1812) 

CANTO III. XVI. 

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair. 

And Greta woods are green, 
And you may gather garlands there. 

Would grace a summer queen. 
5 And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A Maiden on the castle wall 

Was singing merrily, — 

CHORUS 

" O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 
10 And Greta woods are green; 

I'd rather rove with Edmund there, 
Than reign our English queen." — 



WALTER SCOTT 36V 

"If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, 
To leave both tower and town, 
15 Thou first must guess what life lead we, 
That dwell by dale and down? 
And if thou canst that riddle read, 

As read full well you may, 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, 
20 As blithe as Queen of May." — 

CHOKUS 

Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair. 

And Greta woods are green; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there. 

Than reign our English queen. 

25 " I read you, by your bugle-horn. 
And by your palfrey good, 
I read you for a Ranger sworn. 

To keep the king's greenwood. — 
"A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, 
30 And 'tis at peep of light; 

His blast is heard at merry morn. 
And mine at dead of night." — 

CHORUS 

Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 
And Greta woods are gay; 
35 I would I were with Edmund there. 
To reign his Queen of May! 

" With burnish'd brand and musketoon, 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold dragoon, 
40 That lists the tuck of drum."— 



368 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

" I list no more the tuck of drum, 
1^0 more the trumpet hear; 

But when the beetle sounds his hum, 
My comrades take the spear. 

CHOKUS 

45 " And, O ! though Brignall banks be fair. 
And Greta woods be gay, 
Yet mickle must the maiden dare. 
Would reign my Queen of May! 

"Maiden! a nameless life I lead, 
60 A nameless death I'll die; 

The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead. 

Were better mate than I! 

And when I'm with my comrades met, 
Beneath the greenwood bough, 
55 What once we were we all forget, 

Nor think what we are now. 

CHORUS 

" Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 

And Greta woods are green. 
And you may gather garlands there 
60 Would grace a summer queen." — 

SONG 

A WEARY LOT IS THINE 

(From the same) 

CANTO III. XXVIII. 

"A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weary lot is thine! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid. 

And press the rue for wine! 



WALTER SCOTT 369 

5 A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 
A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 
No more of me you knew 
My love! 
10 'No more of me you knew. 

" This morn is merry June, I trow, 

The rose is budding fain; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow, 
Ere we two meet again." 
15 He turn'd his charger as he spake. 
Upon the river shore, 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake. 
Said, "Adieu forever more, 
My love! 
20 And adieu forever more." — 

SONG 

ALLAN-A-DALE 

(From the same) 

CANTO III. XXX. 

Allan-a-Dale has no faggots for burning, 
Allan-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
Allan-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, 
Yet Allan-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
5 Come, read me my riddle ! come, barken my tale ! 
And tell me the craft of bold Allan-a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, 
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. 
The mere for his net, and the land for his game, 
10 The chase for the wild, and the park for the 
tame ; 
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, 
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allan-a-Dale! 



3V0 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Allan-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, 
Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as 
bright ; 
15 Allan-a-Dale is no baron or lord. 

Yet twenty tall yeoman will draw at his word; 
And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail. 
Who at Eere-cross on Stanmore meets Allan-a- 
Dale. 

Allan-a-Dale to his wooing is come; 
20 The mother, she ask'd of his household and home : 

" Though the castle of Kichmond stand fair on 
the hill, 

My hall," quoth bold Allan, " shows gallanter 
still ; 

'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent 
so pale. 

And with all its bright spangles ! " said Allan-a- 
Dale. 

25 The father was steel, and the mother was stone ; 
They lifted the latch, and they bade him begone ; 
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their 

cry: 
He has laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black 

eye. 
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, 
30 And the youth it was told by was Allan-a-Dale! 

SONG 

THE CAVALIER 

(From the same) 

CANTO V, XX 

While the dawn on the mountain was misty and 

gray. 
My true love has mounted his steed and away, 



WALTER SCOTT 371 

Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down; 
Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for 
the Crown! 

5 He has doff'd the silk doublet the breast-plate to 

bear. 
He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long flowing 

hair. 
From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs 

down, — 
Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for 

the Crown! 

For the rights of fair England that broadsword 
he draws; 
10 Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause ; 
His watchword is honour, his pay is renown, — 
God strike with the Gallant that strikes for 
the Crown! 

They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, 

and all 
The round-headed rebels of Westminster Hall; 
15 But tell those bold traitors of London's proud 

town. 
That the spears of the North have encircled the 

Crown. 

There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their 

foes; 
There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's 

Montrose ! 
Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, 

and Brown, 
20 With the Barons of England, that fight for the 

Crown ? 



372 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier ! 
Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless his spear. 
Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may 

drown, 
In a pledge to fair England, her Church, and her 

Crown. 



HUNTING SONG 

(1808) 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 
On the mountain dawns the day; 
All the jolly chase is here 
With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear; 
5 Hounds are in their couples yelling, 
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 
Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 

"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
10 The mist has left the mountain gray, 
Springlets in the dawn are steaming, 
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming; 
And foresters have busy been 
To track the buck in thicket green; 
15 Now we come to chant our lay, 

" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
To the green-wood haste away; 
We can show you where he lies, 
20 Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; 
We can show the marks he made. 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed; 
You shall see him brought to bay, 
"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 



WALTER SCOTT 373 

25 Louder, louder chant the lay, 

Waken, lords and ladies gay! 

Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee, 

Run a course as well as we; 

Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk, 
30 Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ; 

Think of this, and rise with day. 
Gentle lords and ladies gay. 

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN 

(1816) 

I. 

"Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? 

Why weep ye by the tide ? 
I'll wed ye to my youngest son, 

And ye sail be his bride: 
5 And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 

Sae comely to be seen " — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa^ 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

II. 

" Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 
10 And dry that cheek so pale; 

Young Frank is chief of Errington 

And lord of Langley-dale ; 
His step is first in peaceful ha'. 
His sword in battle keen " — 
15 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
For Jock of Hazeldean. 

III. 

" A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 
Nor braid to bind your hair; 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 
20 Nor palfrey fresh and fair; 



si 4: THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

And you, the foremost of them a'. 
Shall ride our forest-queen" — 

But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
For Jock of Hazeldean. 



IV. 

25 The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, 
The tapers glimmered fair; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride. 

And dame and knight are there : 
They sought her baith by bower and ha'; 
30 The ladie was not seen! 

She's o'er the border and awa' 
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 



MADGE WILDFIRE'S SONG 

(From The Heart of Midlothian, 1818) 

"Proud Maisie is in the wood, 

Walking so early; 
Sweet Robin sits on the bush. 

Singing so rarely. 

" ' Tell me, thou bonny bird. 
When shall I marry me ? ' 

^ When six braw gentlemen 
Kirkward shall carry ye.' 



" * Who makes the bridal bed, 
10 Birdie, say truly ? ' — 
* The grey-headed sexton, 
That delves the grave duly. 



WALTER SCOTT Si 5 

The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 
Shall light thee steady; 
15 The owl from the steeple sing, 
* Welcome, proud lady.' " 

BORDER BALLAD 

(From The Monastery, 1820) 

I. 

March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, 

Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order ? 
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, 
All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. 
5 Many a banner spread. 

Flutters above your head. 
Many a crest that is famous in story; 
Mount and make ready then. 
Sons of the mountain glen, 
10 Fight for the Queen and the old Scottish glory! 

II. 

Come from the hills where the hirsels are graz- 
ing, 
Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; 
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, 
Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. 
15 Trumpets are sounding, 

War-steeds are bounding, 
Stand to your arms then, and march in good 
order ; 
England shall many a day 
Tell of the bloody fray, 
20 When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border! 



3V6 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

COUNTY GUY 
(From Quentin Burward, 1823) 

" Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh. 

The sun has left the lea, 
The orange-flower perfumes the bower, 

The breeze is on the sea. 
5 The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day, 

Sits hush'd his partner nigh; 
Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour. 

But where is County Guy? 

" The village maid steals through the shade, 
10 Her shepherd's suit to hear; 
To beauty shy, by lattice high. 
Sings high-born Cavalier. 
The star of Love, all stars above. 
Now reigns o'er earth and sky; 
15 And high and low the influence know — 
But where is County Guy ? " 



Ubomas Campbell 

1777-1844 
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND 

(1800) 

Ye mariners of England 
That guard our native seas. 
Whose flag has braved a thousand years 
The battle and the breeze! 
Your glorious standard launch again 
To match another foe. 
And sweep through the deep. 



THOMAS CAMPBELL 377 

While the stormy winds do blow; 
While the battle rages loud and long, 
10 And the stormy winds do blow. 



The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave ! — 

For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And Ocean was their grave: 

15 Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 
Your manly hearts shall glow, 
As ye sweep through the deep, 
While the stormy winds do blow; 
While the battle rages loud and long, 

20 And the stormy winds do blow. 

Britannia needs no bulwark, 

No towers along the steep; 

Her march is o'er the mountain waves, 

Her home is on the deep. 
25 With thunders from her native oak 

She quells the floods below — 

As they roar on the shore. 

Where the stormy winds do blow; 

When the battle rages loud and long, 
30 And the stormy winds do blow. 

The meteor flag of England 

Shall yet terrific burn, 

Till danger's troubled night depart 

And the star of peace return. 
35 Then, then, ye ocean warriors! 

Our song and feast shall flow 

To the fame of your name, 

When the storm has ceased to blow; 

When the fiery fight is heard no more, 
40 And the storm has ceased to blow. 



31 S THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

HOHENLINDEN 

(1802) 

On Linden, when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow. 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

5 But Linden saw another sight. 

When the drum beat at dead of night. 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, 
10 Each horseman drew his battle blade. 
And furious every charger neighed. 
To join the dreadful revelry. 

Then shook the hills with thunder riven. 
Then rushed the steed to battle driven, 
15 And louder than the bolts of heaven. 
Far flashed the red artillery. 

But redder yet that light shall glow. 
On Linden's hills of stained snow. 
And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
20 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun. 
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, 
Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 

25 The combat deepens. On, ye brave. 
Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave. 
And charge with all thy chivalry! 



THOMAS CAMPBELL Zl9 

Few, few, shall part where many meet! 
30 The snow shall be their winding sheet, 
And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 

(1809) 

Of Nelson and the North 
Sing the glorious day's renown, 
When to battle fierce came forth 
All the might of Denmark's crown, 
6 And her arms along the deep proudly shone; 
By each gun the lighted brand 
In a bold determin'd hand. 
And the Prince of all the land 
Led them on. 

10 Like leviathans afloat 

Lay their bulwarks on the brine, 

While the sign of battle flew 

On the lofty British line : 

It was ten of April morn by the chime; 
15 As they drifted on their path, 

There was silence deep as death, 

And the boldest held his breath 

For a time. 

But the might of England flushed 
20 To anticipate the scene. 

And her van the fleeter rushed 

O'er the deadly space between — 

" Hearts of oak," our captains cried, when each 
gun 

From its adamantine lips 
25 Spread a death-shade round the ships. 

Like the hurricane eclipse 

Of the sun. 



380 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Again! again! again! 

And the havoc did not slack, 

30 Till a feeble cheer the Dane 
To our cheering sent us back; — 
Their shots along the deep slowly boom 
Then ceased — and all is wail, 
As they strike the shattered sail, 

35 Or in conflagration pale 
Light the gloom. 

Out spoke the victor then, 

As he hailed them o'er the wave ; 

" Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! 

40 And we conquer but to save; 

So peace instead of death let us bring: 
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet 
With the crews, at England's feet. 
And make submission meet 

45 To our King." 



Then Denmark blest our chief, 
That he gave her wounds repose; 
And the sounds of joy and grief. 
From her people wildly rose, 
50 As death withdrew his shades from the day; 
While the sun looked smiling bright 
O'er a wide and woeful sight, 
Where the fires of funeral light 
Died away. 



55 Now joy, old England, raise 
For the tidings of thy might, 
By the festal cities' blaze. 
While the wine cup shines in light; 
And yet amidst that joy and uproar, 



THOMAS CAMPBELL 381 

60 Let us think of them that sleep, 
Full many a fathom deep, 
By thy wild and stormy steep, 
Elsinore ! 

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride 
65 Once so faithful and so true. 

On the deck of fame that died, — 

With the gallant good Riou, 

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave! 

While the billow mournful rolls, 
70 And the mermaid's song condoles. 

Singing glory to the souls 

Of the brave ! 

SONG 

"MEN OP ENGLAND" 

Men of England! who inherit 

Kights that cost your sires their blood. 

Men whose undegenerate spirit 

Has been proved on land and flood: — 

5 By the foes ye've fought uncounted. 
By the glorious deeds ye've done. 
Trophies captured — breaches mounted, 
Navies conquered — kingdoms won! 

Yet, remember, England gathers 
10 Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame. 
If the patriotism of your fathers 
Glow not in your hearts the same. 

What are monuments of bravery, 
Where no public virtues bloom? 
15 What avail in lands of slavery, 

Trophied temples, arch and tomb? 



382 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Pageants! — Let the world revere us 
For our people's rights and laws, 
And the breasts of civic heroes 
20 Bared in Freedom's holy cause. 

Yours are Hampden's, Kussell's glory, 
Sydney's matchless fame is yours, — 

Martyrs in heroic story. 

Worth a hundred Agincourts! 

25 We're the sons of sires that baffled 
Crowned and mitred tyranny: 
They defied the field and scaffold 
For their birthrights — so will we ! 

SONG 

TO THE EVENIKG STAR 

Star that bringest home the bee. 
And sett'st the weary labourer free! 
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou, 

That send'st it from above, 
5 Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow. 

Are sweet as her's we love. 

Come to the luxuriant skies. 
Whilst the landscape's odours rise. 
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard, 
10 And songs, when toil is done, 

From cottages whose smoke unstirred 
Curls yellow in the sun. 

Star of love's soft interviews, 
Parted lovers on thee muse; 
15 Their remembrancer in Heaven 

Of thrilling vows thou art. 
Too delicious to be riven 

By absence from the heart. 



THOMAS MOORE 383 

Ubomas /iDoore 

1779-1853 

AS SLOW OUR SHIP 

(From Irish Melodies, 1807-1834) 

As slow our ship her foamy track 

Against the wind was cleaving, 
Her trembling pennant still look'd back 

To that dear isle 'twas leaving. 
5 So loath we part from all we love, 

From all the links that bind us; 
So turn our hearts, where'er we rove. 

To those we've left behind us! 

When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years 
10 We talk, with joyous seeming, 

And smiles that might as well be tears. 

So faint, so sad their beaming; 

While mem'ry brings us back again 

Each early tie that twin'd us, 

15 Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then 

To those we've left behind us! 

And, when in other climes we meet 

Some isle or vale enchanting. 
Where all looks flow'ry, mild and sweet, 
20 And nought but love is wanting; 
We think how great had been our bliss, 

If Heav'n had but assign'd us 
To live and die in scenes like this, 

With some we've left behind us! 

25 As trav'llers oft look back at eve. 
When eastward darkly going. 
To gaze upon the light they leave 
Still faint behind them glowing — 



384 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

So, when the close of pleasure's day 
30 To gloom hath near consign'd us. 
We turn to catch one fading ray 
Of joy that's left behind us. 

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS 

(From the same) 

The harp that once, through Tara's Halls 

The soul of music shed, 
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, 

As if that soul were fled : — 
5 So sleeps the pride of former days. 

So glory's thrill is o'er; 
And hearts, that once beat high for praise, 

Now feel that pulse no more! 

No more to chiefs and ladies bright 
10 The harp of Tara swells; 

The chord, alone, that breaks the night. 

Its tale of ruin tells: — 
Thus freedom now so seldom wakes. 
The only throb she gives 
15 Is when some heart indignant breaks. 
To show that still she lives! 



GEORGE GORDON BYRON 385 

GcovQC (Bort)on Bpron 

1788-1824 
STANZAS FOR MUSIC 

(1815) 

" O Lachrymarum f ons, tenero sacros 
Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater 
Felix! in imo qui scatentem 
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit." 

— Gray^s Poemata. 

I. 

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes 

away. 
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's 

dull decay; 
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which 

fades so fast, 
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, e'er youth itself 

be past. 

II. 

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of 
happiness 5 

Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : 

The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in 
vain 

The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never 
stretch again. 

III. 

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself 

comes down; 
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its 

own ; 10 



386 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our 

tears, 
And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice 

appears. 



IV. 

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth dis- 
tract the breast. 

Through midnight hours that yield no more their 
former hope of rest; 14 

'Tis but as ivy leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath. 

All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray 
beneath. 



V. 

Oh could I feel as I have felt, — or be what I have been. 
Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a van- 

ish'd scene: 
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish 

though they be. 
So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would 

flow to me. 20 



SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY 
(From Hebrew Melodies, 1815) 

I. 

She walks in beauty, like the night 

Of cloudless climes and starry skies; 
And all that's best of dark and bright 
Meet in her aspect and her eyes : 
5 Thus mellow'd to that tender light 
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 



GEORGE GOKDON BYRON 387 

II. 

One shade the more, one ray the less, 

Had half impair'd the nameless grace 
Which waves in every raven tress, 
10 Or softly lightens o'er her face ; 

Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
How pure, how dear, their dwelling-place. 



III. 



And on that cheek, and o'er that brow. 
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
15 The smiles that win, the tints that glow. 
But tell of days in goodness spent, 

A mind at peace with all below, 
A heart whose love is innocent! 



SONNET ON CHILLON 

(Introduction to The Prisoner of Ghillon) 
(1816) 

Eternal spirit of the chainless mind! 

Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art. 
For there thy habitation is the heart — 
The heart which love of thee alone can bind; 

And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd — 5 

To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom 
Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 

Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, 

And thy sad floor an altar — for 'twas trod, 10 

Until his very steps have left a trace 

Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod. 

By Bonnivard! — May none those marks efface! 
For they appeal from tyranny to God. 



388 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

(1816) 

CANTO III. 

III. 

In my youth's summer I did sing of One, 
The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind ; 20 

Again I seize the theme, then but begun. 
And bear it with me, as the rushing wind 
Bears the cloud onwards : in that Tale I find 
The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, 
Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind, 25 

O'er which all heavily the journeying years 
Plod the last sands of life, — where not a flower appears. 



VIII. 

Something too much of this : — but now 'tis past, 
And the spell closes with its silent seal. 65 

Long absent Harold re-appears at last; 
He of the breast which fain no more would feel, 
Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er 

heal ; 
Yet Time, who changes all, had altered him 
In soul and aspect as in age: years steal 70 

Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb ; 
And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. 

IX. 

His had been quaff'd too quickly, and he found 
The dregs were wormwood; but he fill'd again, 
And from a purer fount, on holier ground, 75 

And deem'd its spring perpetual ; but in vain ! 
Still round him clung invisibly a chain 



GEOKGE GORDON BYRON 389 

Which gall'd forever, fettering though unseen, 
And heavy though it clank'd not; worn with pain. 
Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen. 
Entering with every step he took through many a 
scene. 81 



XII. 

But soon he knew himself the most unfit 100 

, Of men to herd with Man ; with whom he held 
Little in common; untaught to submit 
His thoughts to others, though his soul was quell'd 
In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompell'd. 
He would not yield dominion of his mind 105 

To spirits against whom his own rebell'd ; 
Proud though in desolation; which could find 
A life within itself, to breathe without mankind. 

XIII. 

Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends ; 
Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home; 110 
Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends. 
He had the passion and the power to roam ; 
The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, 
Were unto him companionship; they spake 
A mutual language, clearer than the tome 115 

Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake 
For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake. 

XIV. 

Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars. 

Till he had peopled them with beings bright 

As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born jars. 

And human frailties, were forgotten quite: 121 

Could he have kept his spirit to that flight 



390 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

He had been happy; but this clay will sink 
Its spark immortal, envying it the light 
To which it mounts, as if to break the link 125 
That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its 
brink. 

XY. 

But in Man's dwellings he became a thing 
Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome, 
Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with dipt wing, 
To whom the boundless air alone were home: 130 
Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome, 
As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat 
His breast and beak against his wiry dome 
Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat 
Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat. 135 

XYI. 

Self -exiled Harold wanders forth again. 

With naught of hope left, but with less of gloom; 

The very knowledge that he lived in vain. 

That all was over on this side the tomb, 

Had made Despair a smilingness assume, 140 

Which, though 'twere wild, — as on the plunder'd 

wreck 
When mariners would madly meet their doom 
With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck, — 
Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check. 



XVIII. 

And Harold stands upon this place of skulls. 
The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo; 155 

How in an hour the power which gave annuls 
Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too! 
In " pride of place " here last the eagle flew. 



GEOKGE GORDON BYRON 391 

Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, 
Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through; 160 
Ambition's life and labours all were vain; 
He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken 
chain. 



XXI. 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gatjier'd then 
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; 
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when 185 

Music arose with its voluptuous swell. 
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again. 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell; 
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising 
knell! 

XXII. 

Did ye not hear it? — 'No; 'twas but the wind 190 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; 
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; 
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet — 
But, hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 196 

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! 
Arm! Arm! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar! 

XXIII. 

Within a window'd niche of that high hall 

Sate Brunswicks' fated chieftain ; he did hear 200 

That sound the first amidst the festival. 

And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; 

And when they smiled because he deem'd it near. 



392 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier, 205 
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : 
He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 

XXIV. 

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 210 

Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 215 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ? 

XXV. 

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed. 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car. 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 220 

And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; 
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, 
Or whispering, with white lips — " The foe ! They 
come ! they come ! " 225 

XXVI. 

And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering " rose ! 
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: — 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 229 
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills 



GEORGE GORDON BYRON 393 

Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
With the fierce native daring which instils 
The stirring memory of a thousand years, 
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansmen's 
ears! 

XXVII. 

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves. 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 236 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves. 
Over the unreturning brave, — alas! 
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 240 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valour, rolling on the foe 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and 
low. 

XXVIII. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life. 
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 245 

The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. 
The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 
Battle's magnificently-stern array! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, 250 

Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent. 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial 
blent ! 



LXXXV. 

Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake. 
With the wild world I dwell in, is a thing 
Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. 760 

This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 



394 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

To waft me from distraction ; once I loved 
Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, 
That I with stern delights should e'er have been so 
moved. 765 

LXXXVI. 

It is the hush of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen. 
Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear 
Precipitously steep; and drawing near, 770 

There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar. 
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more; 

LXXXVII. 

He is an evening reveller, who makes 775 

His life an infancy, and sings his fill; 
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 
Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
There seems a floating whisper on the hill. 
But that is fancy, for the starlight dews 780 

All silently their tears of love instil. 
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. 

LXXXVIII. 

Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! 

If in your bright leaves we would read the fate 785 

Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven. 

That in our aspirations to be great. 

Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state. 



GEORGE GORDON BYRON 395 

And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are 
A beauty and a mystery, and create 790 

In us such love and reverence from afar, 
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named them^ 
selves a star. 



LXXXIX. 

All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep. 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; 
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : — 795 
All heaven and earth are still : From the high host 
Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast, 
All is concentr'd in a life intense. 
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost. 
But hath a part of being, and a sense 800 

Of that which is of all Creator and defence. 



XC. 

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt 
In solitude, where we are least alone; 
A truth, which through our being then doth melt 
And purifies from self: it is a tone, 805 

The soul and source of music, which makes known 
Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm, 
Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone. 
Binding all things with beauty ; — 'twould disarm 809 
The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. 



XCI. 

Not vainly did the early Persian make 
His altar the high places and the peak 
Of earth-o'ergazing mountains, and thus take 
A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek 



396 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

The spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, 815 
Uprear'd of human hands. Come, and compare 
Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, 
With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air, 
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy pray'r ! 

XCII. 

The sky is changed ! — and such a change — 

Oh night, 820 

And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along. 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud. 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 826 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! 

XCIII. 

And this is in the night : — Most glorious night ! 
Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be 830 

A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — 
A portion of the tempest and of thee! 
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea. 
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee 835 
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, 
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 

XCIV. 

Now, where the swift Ehone cleaves his way between 
Heights which appear as lovers who have parted 
In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, 840 

That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted 1 



GEORGE GORDON BYRON 397 

Though in their souls, which thus each other 

parted : 
Love was the very root of the fond rage 
Which blighted their life's bloom and then de- 
parted : 
Itself expired, but leaving them an age 845 

Of years all winters, — war within themselves to wage. 

xcv. 

Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, 
The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand: 
For here, not one, but many, make their play. 
And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand, 850 
Flashing and cast around: of all the band. 
The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd 
His lightnings, — as if he did understand. 
That in such gaps as desolation work'd. 
There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein 
lurk'd. 855 

XCVI. 

Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! Ye! 
With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
Things that have made me watchful; the far roll 
Of your departing voices, is the knoll 860 

Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. 
But where of ye, oh tempests ! is the goal ? 
Are ye like those within the human breast? 
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest? 

XCVII. 

Could I embody and unbosom now 865 

That which is most within me, — could I wreak 
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw 
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, 



398 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

All that I would have sought, and all I seek, 
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one word, 870 
And that one word were Lightning, I would speak; 
But as it is, I live and die unheard. 
With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword. 

CANTO IV. 

(1818) 
LXXVIII. 

Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! 
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 695 

Lone mother of dead empires ! and control 
In their shut breasts their petty misery. 
What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see 
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples. Ye! 700 
Whose agonies are evils of a day — 
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 

LXXIX. 

The Niobe of nations! there she stands, 
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe, 
An empty urn within her wither'd hands, 705 

Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago; 
The Scipio's tomb contains no ashes now; 
The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow. 
Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness? 710 

Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. 

LXXX. 

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and 

Fire, 
Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride; 
She saw her glories star by star expire. 
And up the steep, barbarian monarchs ride, 715 



GEORGE GORDON BYRON 399 

Where the car climb'd the Capitol; far and wide 
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site: — 
Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void, 
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light. 
And say, " here was, or is," where all is doubly night ? 

LXXXI. 

The double night of ages, and of her. 721 

Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap 
All round us; we but feel our way to err: 
The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map. 
And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap ; 725 
But Rome is as the desert, where we steer 
Stumbling o'er recollections; now we clap 
Our hands, and cry " Eureka ! " it is clear — 
Where but some false mirage of ruin rises near. 

LXXXII. 

Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! 730 

The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day 
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass 
The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away! 
Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay. 
And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be 735 
Her resurrection; all beside — decay. 
Alas for earth, for never shall we see 
That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was 
free! 



CLXXV. 

But I forget. — My Pilgrim's shrine is won, 

And he and I must part, — so let it be, — 

His task and mine alike are nearly done; 

Yet once more let us look upon the sea ; 1570 



400 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

The midland ocean breaks on him and me, 
And from the Alban Mount we now behold 
Our friend of youth, that ocean, which when we 
Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold 
Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxine roll'd 

CLXXVI. 

Upon the blue Symplegades : long years — 1576 

Long, though not very many, since have done 
Their work on both; some suffering and some tears 
Have left us nearly where we had begun : 
Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run, 1580 

We have had our reward — and it is here ; 
That we can yet feel gladden'd by the sun, 
And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear 
As if there were no man to trouble what is clear. 

CLXXVII. 

Oh ! that the Desert were my dwelling-place, 1585 
With one fair Spirit for my minister. 
That I might all forget the human race. 
And, hating no one, love but only her! 
Ye Elements! — in whose ennobling stir 
I feel myself exalted — Can ye not 1590 

Accord me such a being? Do I err 
In deeming such inhabit many a spot? 
Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot. 

CLXXYIII. 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 

There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 1595 

There is society, where none intrudes. 

By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: 

I love not Man the less, but Nature more. 

From these our interviews, in which I steal 

From all I may be, or have been before, 1600 



GEORGE GORDON BYRON 401 

To mingle with the Universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 

CLXXIX. 

Koll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 1605 
Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 1610 
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncofiin'd, and unknown. 

CLXXX. 

His steps are not upon thy paths, — thy fields 
Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise 
And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields 
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 1615 
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray 
And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies 
His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
And dashest him again to earth: — there let him lay. 

CLXXXI. 

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 1621 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 1625 

Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ; 
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 



402 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



CLXXXII. 



Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — 
Assyria, Greece, Kome, Carthage, what are they? 
Thy waters wasted them while they were free, 1632 
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts: — not so thou, 1635 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play — 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — • 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 

CLXXXIII. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's foim 
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time 1640 

Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm. 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime — 
The image of Eternity — the throne 
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 1645 

The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 

CLXXXIV. 

And I have loved thee. Ocean! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 1650 
I wanton'd with thy breakers — they to me 
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear. 
For I was as it were a child of thee. 
And trusted to thy billows far and near 1655 

And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. 



GEORGE GORDON BYRON 403 

DON JUAN 
(1821) 

CANTO III. 
XC. 

And glory long has made the sages smile; 

'Tis something, nothing, words, illusion, wind — 
Depending more upon the historian's style 715 

Than on the name a person leaves behind : 
Troy owes to Homer what whist owes to Hoyle: 

The present century was growing blind 
To the great Marlborough's skill in giving knocks 
Until his late Life by Archdeacon Coxe. 720 

XCI. 

Milton's the prince of poets — so we say; 

A little heavy, but no less divine: 
An independent being in his day — 

Learn'd, pious, temperate in love and wine; 
But his life falling into Johnson's way, 725 

We're told this great high-priest of all the Nine 
Was whipt at college — a harsh sire — odd spouse, 
For the first Mrs. Milton left his house. 

XCII. 

All these are, certes, entertaining facts. 

Like Shakespeare's stealing deer. Lord Bacon's 
bribes; 730 

Like Titus' youth, and Caesar's earliest acts ; 

Like Burns (whom Dr. Currie well describes) 
Like Cromwell's pranks; — but although truth exacts 

These amiable descriptions from the scribes. 
As most essential to their hero's story, 735 

They do not much contribute to his glory. 



404 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



XCIII. 



All are not moralists, like Southey, when 
He prated to the world of " Pantisocracy ; " 

Or Wordsworth unexcised, unhir'd, who then 

Season'd his pedlar poems with democracy; 740 

Or Coleridge, long before his flighty pen 
Let to the Morning Post its aristocracy; 

When he and Southey, following the same path, 

Espoused two partners (milliners of Bath). 

xciv. 

Such names at present cut a convict figure, 745 

The very Botany Bay in moral geography; 

Their loyal treason, renegado vigour, 

Are good manure for their more bare biography. 

Wordsworth's last quarto, by the way, is bigger 

Than any since the birthday of typography; 750 

A clumsy, frowzy poem, call'd the " Excursion " 

Writ in a manner which is my aversion. 

XCV. 

He there builds up a formidable dyke 

Between his own and others' intellect; 
But Wordsworth's poem, and his followers, like 755 

Joanna Southcote's Shiloh, and her sect. 
Are things which in this century don't strike 

The public mind, — so few are the elect; 
And the new births of both their stale virginities 
Have proved but dropsies taken for divinities, 760 



CI. 

T' our tale. — The feast was over, the slaves gone, 
The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retir'd; 

The Arab lore and poet's song were done, 
And every sound of revelry expir'd; 



GEORGE GORDON BYRON 405 

The lady and her lover, left alone, 805 

The rosy flood of twilight sky admir'd; — 
Ave Maria! o'er the earth and sea. 
That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest thee! 

Cll. 

Ave Maria! blessed be the hour! 

The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft 810 

Have felt that moment in its fullest power 

Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft. 
While swung the deep bell in the distant tower. 

Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft. 

And not a breath crept through the rosy air, 815 
And yet the forest leaves seem stirr'd with prayer. 



CV. 

Sweet hour of twilight! — in the solitude 
Of the pine forest, and the silent shore 

Which bounds Kavenna's immemorial wood, 835 

Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er^ 

To where the last Caesarean fortress stood. 
Evergreen forest ! which Boccaccio's lore 

And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me. 

How have I loved the twilight hour and thee! 840 

evi. 

The shrill cicalas, people of the pine. 

Making their summer lives one ceaseless song. 

Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine. 
And vesper-bell's that rose the boughs along; 

The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line, 845 

His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng 

Which learn'd from this example not to fly 

From a true lover, shadow'd my mind's eye. 



406 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

CVII. 

Oh, Hesperus! thou bringest all good things — 
Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer, 850 

To the young bird the parent's brooding wings, 
The welcome stall to the o'erlabour'd steer; 

Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings, 
Whate'er our household gods protect of dear, 

Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest ; 855 

Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast. 





4 



CVIII. 

Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart 
Of those who sail the seas, on the first day 

When they from their sweet friends are torn apart; 
Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way 860 

As the far bell of vesper makes him start. 
Seeming to weep the dying day's decay; 

Is this a fancy which our reason scorns ? 

Ah! surely nothing dies but something mourns! 



Percy B^BSbe Sbellep 

1792-1833 

ODE TO THE WEST WIND 

(1819) 

I. 

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's 

being. 
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead 
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing. 

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 
5 Pestilence-stricken multitudes : O thou. 
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 407 

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low. 
Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 

10 Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 
With living hues and odours plain and hill: 
Wild Spirit, which art moving every where; 
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear! 

IL 

15 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's com- 
motion, 
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed. 
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and 
Ocean, 

Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread 
On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 
20 Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 

Of some fierce Masnad, even from the dim verge 

Of the horizon to the zenith's height. 

The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge 

Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
25 Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre. 
Vaulted with all thy congregated might 

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere 
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst : oh, hear ! 

III. 

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams 
30 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay. 

Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams. 



408 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay. 
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
Quivering within the wave's intenser day, 

35 All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers 

So sweet the sense faints picturing them ! Thou 
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers 

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear 
40 The sapless foliage of the ocean know 

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear. 
And tremble and despoil themselves: oh, hear! 

IV. 

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; 

If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; 

45 A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 

The impulse of thy strength, only less free 
Than thou, O uncontrollable ! If even 
I were as in my boyhood, and could be 

The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, 
50 As then, when to outstrip thy skyey speed 

Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have 
striven 

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 
Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! 
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! 

55 A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed 
One too like thee : tameless, and swift, and proud. 



PEKCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 409 

V. 

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : 
What if my leaves are falling like its own ! 
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 

60 Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, 

Sweet though in sadness. Be thou. Spirit fierce, 
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! 

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe 
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! 
65 And, by the incantation of this verse. 

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth 
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! 
Be through my lips to unawakened earth 

The trumpet of a prophecy! O wind, 
70 If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? 

TO A SKYLARK 

(1820) 

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit ! 

Bird thou never wert, 
That from Heaven, or near it, 
Pourest thy full heart 
5 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 

Higher still and higher 

From the earth thou springest 
Like a cloud of fire; 

The blue deep thou wingest, 
10 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever 
singest. 



410 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

In the golden lightning 

Of the sunken sun, 
O'er which clouds are bright'ning. 
Thou dost float and run; 
15 Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 



The pale purple even 

Melts around thy flight; 
Like a star of heaven, 
In the broad day-light 
20 Thou art unseen, — but yet I hear thy shrill 
delight. 

Keen as are the arrows 

Of that silver sphere, 
Whose intense lamp narrows 

In the white dawn clear 
25 Until we hardly see — we feel that it is there. 

All the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud. 
As, when Night is bare, 
From one lonely cloud 
30 The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is 
overflowed. 

What thou art we know not; 

What is most like thee? 
From rainbow clouds there flow not 
Drops so bright to see 
35 As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. 

Like a Poet hidden 

In the light of thought. 
Singing hymns unbidden 
Till the world is wi'ought 
40 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : 



H 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 411 

Like a high-born maiden 

In a palace tower, 
Soothing her love-laden 
Soul in secret hour 
45 With music sweet as love, — ^which overflows her 
bower : 

Like a glow-worm golden 

In a dell of dew. 
Scattering unbeholden 
Its aerial hue 
50 Among the flowers and grass which screen it from 
the view: 

Like a rose embowered 
In its own green leaves. 

By warm winds deflowered. 
Till the scent it gives 
55 Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy- 
winged thieves: 

Sound of vernal showers 

On the twinkling grass. 
Rain-awakened flowers. 

All that ever was 
60 Joyous and clear and fresh, thy music doth sur- 



Teach us, Sprite or Bird, 
What sweet thoughts are thine; 

I have never heard 
Praise of love or wine 
65 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

Chorus Hymenaeal, 
Or triumphal chaunt. 



412 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Matched with thine, would be all 
But an empty vaunt, 
70 A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden 
want. 

What objects are the fountains 

Of thy happy strain? 
What fields or waves or mountains? 
What shapes of sky or plain? 
75 What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of 
pain? 

With thy clear keen joyance 

Languor cannot be; 
Shadow of annoyance 

Never came near thee; 
80 Thou lovest — but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 

Waking or asleep 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 
Than we mortals dream — 
85 Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal 
stream ? 

We look before and after, 

And pine for what is not; 
Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught; 
90 Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest 
thought. 

Yet if we could scorn 

Hate and pride and fear; 
If we were things born 

ISTot to shed a tear, 
95 I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 413 

Better than all measures 

Of delightful sound, 
Better than all treasures 
That in books are found, 
100 Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the 
ground ! 

Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know, 
Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow, 
105 The world should listen then — as I am listening 
now. 

THE CLOUD 

(1820) 

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 

From the seas and the streams; 
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 

In their noonday dreams. 
5 From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 

The sweet buds every one, 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 

As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 
10 And whiten the green plains under. 

And then again I dissolve it in rain, 

And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below. 
And their great pines groan aghast; 
15 And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 

While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers, 

Lightning my pilot sits; 
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, 
20 It struggles and howls by fits; 



414 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 

This pilot is guiding me, 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea; 
25 Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, 

Over the lakes and the plains, 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 

The Spirit he loves remains; 
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, 
30 Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 



The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor e5''es. 

And his burning plumes outspread, 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack. 

When the morning star shines dead; 
35 As on the jag of a mountain crag. 

Which an earthquake rocks and swings. 
An eagle alit one moment may sit 

In the light of its golden wings. 
And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea 
beneath, 
40 Its ardours of rest and of love. 

And the crimson pall of eve may fall 

From the depth of heaven above. 
With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest. 

As still as a brooding dove. 

45 That orbed maiden, with white fire laden. 
Whom mortals call the Moon, 
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor. 

By the midnight breezes strewn; 
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, 
50 Which only the angels hear. 

May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof. 

The stars peep behind her and peer; 
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee. 



^ 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 415 

Like a swarm of golden bees, 
55 When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas. 
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, 
Are each paved with the moon and these. 

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, 
60 And the moon's with a girdle of pearl; 

The volcanos are dim, and the stars reel and 
swim. 
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape. 
Over a torrent sea, 
65 Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, — 
The mountains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch, through which I march. 

With hurricane, fire, and snow. 
When the powers of the air are chained to my 
chair, 
70 Is the million-colored bow; 

The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, 

While the moist earth was laughing below. 

I am the daughter of earth and water. 
And the nursling of the sky; 
75 I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; 
I change, but I cannot die. 
For after the rain, when with never a stain 

The pavilion of heaven is bare. 
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex 
gleams, 
80 Build up the blue dome of air, 

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph. 

And out of the caverns of rain. 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the 
tomb, 
I arise and unbuild it again. 



416 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

ADONAIS 

(1831) 



I weep for Adonais — he is dead! 
Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears 
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head ! 
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years 
5 To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, 
And teach them thine own sorrow ; Say : " With 

me 
Died Adonais; till the Future dares 
Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be 
An echo and a light unto eternity ! " 

II. 

10 Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay. 
When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft 

which flies 
In darkness? where was lorn Urania 
When Adonais died? With veiled eyes, 
'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise 
15 She sate, while one, with soft enamoured 
breath, 
Kekindled all the fading melodies. 
With which, like flowers that mock the corse 
beneath. 
He had adorned and hid the coming bulk of 
death. 

III. 

Oh, weep for Adonais — he is dead! 
20 Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep! 
Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning 

bed 
Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 417 

Like his a mute and uncomplaining sleep; 
For he is gone where all things wise and fair 
25 Descend. Oh, dream not that the amorous 
Deep 
Will yet restore him to the vital air; 
Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our 
despair. 

lY. 

Most musical of mourners, weep again! 
Lament anew, Urania! — He died, 
30 Who was the sire of an immortal strain, 

Blind, old, and lonely, when his country's pride 
The priest, the slave, and the liberticide 
Trampled and mocked with many a loathed rite 
Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified, 
35 Into the gulf of death ; but his clear Sprite 
Yet reigns o'er earth, the third among the sons of 
light. 

V. 

Most musical of mourners, weep anew! 
Not all to that bright station dared to climb; 
And happier they their happiness who knew, 
40 Whose tapers yet burn through that night of 
time 
In which suns perished; others more sublime, 
Struck by the envious wrath of man or God, 
Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime; 
And some yet live, treading the thorny road, 
45 Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's 
serene abode. 

VI. 

But now, thy youngest, dearest one has 

perished, 
The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, 
Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished 
And fed with true-love tears instead of dew ; 



418 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

50 Most musical of mourners, weep anew! 

Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last, 
The bloom, whose petals, nipt before they blew. 
Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste ; 
The broken lily lies — ^the storm is overpast. 

VII. 

55 To that high Capital, where kingly Death 
Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay, 
He came; and bought, with price of purest 

breath, 
A grave among the eternal. — Come away ! 
Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day 

60 Is yet his fitting charnel-roof ! while still 
He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay; 
Awake him not! surely he takes his fill 
Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill. 

VIII. 

He will awake no more, oh, never more! 

65 Within the twilight chamber spreads apace 
The shadow of white Death, and at the door 
Invisible Corruption waits to trace 
His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place; 
The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe 

70 Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface 
So fair a prey, till darkness and the law 
Of change, shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain 
draw. 

IX. 

Oh, weep for Adonais! — The quick Dreams, 
The passion-winged ministers of thought, 
75 Who were his flocks, whom near the living 
streams 
Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 419 

The love which was its music, wander not, — 
Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain. 
But droop there, whence they sprung; and 
mourn their lot 
80 Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet 
pain, 
They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home 
again. 



X. 

And one with trembling hands clasps his cold 

head. 
And fans him with her moonlight wings, and 

cries, 
" Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead ; 
85 See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes. 
Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies 
A tear some Dream has loosened from his 

brain." 
Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise! 
She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain 
90 She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its 
rain. 



XI. 

One from a lucid urn of starry dew 
Washed his light limbs as if embalming them; 
Another dipt her profuse locks, and threw 
The wreath upon him, like an anadem, 
95 Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem; 
Another in her wilful grief would break 
Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem 
A greater loss with one which was more weak; 
And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek. 



420 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



XII. 



100 Another Splendour on his mouth alit, 

That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the 

breath 
Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded 

wit. 
And pass into the panting heart beneath 
With lightning and with music: the damp 
death 
105 Quenched its caress upon his icy lips; 

And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath 
Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips. 
It flushed through his pale limbs, and past to its 
eclipse. 

XIII. 

And others came . . . Desires and Adorations, 
110 Winged Persuasions and veiled Destinies, 

Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering In- 
carnations 
Of hopes and fears, and twilight Fantasies; 
And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs, 
And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the 
gleam 
115 Of her own dying smile instead of eyes, 

Came in slow pomp; — the moving pomp might 
seem 
Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream. 

XIV. 

All he had loved, and molded into thought. 
From shape, and hue, and odour, and sweet 
sound, 
120 Lamented Adonais. Morning sought 

Her eastern watch tower, and her hair un- 
bound, 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 421 

Wet with the tears which should adorn the 

ground. 
Dimmed the aerial eyes that kindle day; 
Afar the melancholy thunder moaned, 
125 Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay. 

And the wild winds flew round, sobbing in their 
dismay. 

XV. 

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, 
And feeds her grief with his remembered lay. 
And will no more reply to winds or fountains, 

130 Or amorous birds perched on the young green 
spray, 
Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day; 
Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear 
Than those for whose disdain she pined away 
Into a shadow of all sounds: — a drear 

135 Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen 
hear. 

XVI. 

Grief made the young Spring wild, and she 

threw down 
Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were. 
Or they dead leaves; since her delight is 

flown. 
For whom should she have waked the sullen 

year? 
140 To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear, 
Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both 
Thou, Adonais; wan they stand and sere 
Amid the faint companions of their youth. 
With dew all turned to tears; odour, to sighing 

ruth. 



422 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



XVU. 



145 Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale, 

Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain ; 
Not so the eagle, who like thee could scale 
Heaven, and could nourish in the sun's domain 
Her mighty youth with morning, doth com- 
plain, 
150 Soaring and screaming round her empty nest, 
As Albion wails for thee : the curse of Cain 
Light on his head who pierced thy innocent 
breast, 
And scared the angel soul that was its earthly 
guest ! 

XVIII. 

Ah woe is me ! Winter is come and gone, 
155 But grief returns with the revolving year; 

The airs and streams renew their joyous tone; 
The ants, the bees, the swallows reappear; 
Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead Seasons' 

bier; 
The amorous birds now pair in every brake, 
160 And build their mossy homes in field and brere ; 
And the green lizard and the golden snake, 
Like imimprisoned flames, out of their trance 
awake. 

XIX. 

Through wood and stream and field and hill 

and Ocean, 
A quickening life from the Earth's heart has 

burst, 
165 As it has ever done, with change and motion, 

From the great morning of the world when 

first 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 423 

God dawned on Chaos; in its stream immersed 

The lamps of Heaven flash with a softer light; 

All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst, 

170 Diffuse themselves, and spend in love's delight, 

The beauty and the joy of their renewed might. 

XX. 

The leprous corpse touched by this spirit 

tender, 
Exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath; 
Like incarnations of the stars, when splendour 
175 Is changed to fragrance, they illumine death 

And mock the merry worm that wakes beneath. 
Nought we know dies. Shall that alone which 

knows 
Be as a sword consumed before the sheath 
By sightless lightning? — the intense atom 

glows 
180 A moment, then is quenched in a most cold 

repose. 

XXI. 

Alas ! that all we loved of him should be, 
But for our grief, as if it had not been. 
And grief itself be mortal ! Woe is me ! 
Whence are we, and why are we ? of what scene 
185 The actors or spectators? Great and mean 

Meet massed in death, who lends what life must 

borrow. 
As long as skies are blue, and fields are green. 
Evening must usher night, night urge the 

morrow, 
Month follow month with woe, and year wake 

year to sorrow. 



424 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



XXII. 



190 He will awake no more, oh, never more ^ 

" Wake thou," cried Misery, " childless Mother, 

rise 
Out of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart's 

core, 
A wound more fierce than his with tears and 

sighs." 
And all the Dreams that watched Urania's 

eyes, 
195 And all the Echoes whom their sister's song 
Had held in holy silence, cried, " Arise ! " 
Swift as a Thought by the snake Memory 

stung, 
From her ambrosial rest the fading Splendour 

sprung. 

XXIII. 

She rose like an autumnal night, that springs 
200 Out of the East, and follows wild and drear 
The golden Day, which, on eternal wings. 
Even as a ghost abandoning a bier. 
Had left the Earth a corpse, — sorrow and 

fear 
So struck, so roused, so rapt Urania; 
205 So saddened round her like an atmosphere 
Of stormy mist ; so swept her on her way 
Even to the mournful place where Adonais lay. 

XXIV. 

Out of her secret Paradise she sped. 
Through camps and cities rough with stone, 
and steel, 
210 And human hearts which, to her airy tread 
Yielded not, wounded the invisible 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 425 

Palms of her tender feet where'er they fell; 
And barbed tongues, and thoughts more sharp 

than they, 
Kent the soft Form they never could repel, 
215 Whose sacred blood, like the young tears of 
May, 
Paved with eternal flowers that undeserving 
way. 



XXV. 



In the death-chamber for a moment Death, 
Shamed by the presence of that living Might, 
Blushed to annihilation, and the breath 

220 Revisited those lips, and life's pale light 

Flashed through those limbs, so late her dear 

delight. 
" Leave me not wild and drear and comfortless. 
As silent lightning leaves the starless night! 
Leave me not ! " cried Urania ; her distress 

225 Roused Death; Death rose and smiled, and met 
her vain caress. 



XXVI. 

" Stay yet awhile ! speak to me once again ; 
Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live; 
And in my heartless breast and burning brain 
That word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else 

survive, 
230 With food of saddest memory kept alive, 
Now thou art dead, as if it were a part 
Of thee, my Adonais ! I would give 
All that I am to be as thou now art ! 
But I am chained to Time, and cannot thence 

depart ! 



426 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

XXVII. 

235 " O gentle child, beautiful as thou wert, 

Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men 
Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty 

heart 
Dare the unpastured dragon in his den? 
Defenceless as thou wert, oh, where was then 
240 Wisdom the mirrored shield, or scorn the spear? 
Or hadst thou waited the full cycle, when 
Thy spirit should have filled its crescent sphere, 
The monsters of life's waste had fled from thee 
like deer. 

XXVIII. 

" The herded wolves, bold only to pursue ; 
245 The obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead; 
The vultures, to the conqueror's banner true, 
Who feed where Desolation first has fed. 
And whose wings rain contagion; — how they 

fled, 
When, like Apollo, from his golden bow 
250 The Pythian of the age one arrow sped 

And smiled! — The spoilers tempt no second 
blow. 
They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them ly- 
ing low. 

XXIX. 

" The sun comes forth, and many reptiles 

spawn ; 
He sets, and each ephemeral insect then 
255 Is gathered into death without a dawn, 
And the immortal stars awake again; 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 427 

So is it in the world of living men: 
A godlike mind soars forth, in its delight 
Making earth bare and veiling heaven, and 
when 
260 It sinks, the swarms that dimmed or shared 
its light 
Leave to its kindred lamps the spirit's awful 
night." 



XXX. 

Thus ceased she: and the mountain shepherds 

came. 
Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent; 
The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame 

265 Over his living head like Heaven is bent, 
An early but enduring monument. 
Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song 
In sorrow; from her wilds lerne sent 
The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong, 

270 And love taught grief to fall like music from his 
tongue. 



XXXI. 

Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, 
A phantom among men; companionless 
As the last cloud of an expiring storm 
Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, 
275 Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, 
Acteon-like, and now he fled astray 
With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness. 
And his own thoughts, along that rugged way. 
Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and 
their prey. 



428 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



XXXII. 



280 A pardlike Spirit beautiful and swift — 
A Love in desolation masked; — a Power 
Girt round with weakness ; — it can scarce uplift 
The weight of the superincumbent hour; 
It is a dying lamp, a falling shower, 

285 A breaking billow; — even whilst we speak 
Is it not broken? On the withering flower 
The killing sun smiles brightly : on a cheek 
The life can burn in blood, even while the heart 
may break. 

XXXIII. 

His head was bound with pansies overblown, 
290 And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue ; 
And a light spear topped with a cypress cone, 
Round whose rude shaft dark ivy tresses grew 
Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew, 
Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart 
295 Shook the weak hand that grasped it; of that 
crew 
He came the last, neglected and apart; 
A herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter^s 
dart. 

XXXIV. 

All stood aloof, and at his partial moan 
Smiled through their tears; well knew that 

gentle band 
300 Who in another's fate now wept his own. 
As in the accents of an unknown land 
He sung new sorrow; sad Urania scanned 
The Stranger's mien, and murmured : " Who 

art thou ? " 
He answered not, but with a sudden hand 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 429 

305 Made bare his branded and ensanguined brow, 
Which was like Cain's or Christ's — oh! that it 
should be so! 

XXXV. 

What softer voice is hushed over the dead? 

Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown ? 

What form leans sadly o'er the white death- 
bed, 
310 In mockery of monumental stone. 

The heavy heart heaving without a moan? 

If it be He, who, gentlest of the wise. 

Taught, soothed, loved, honoured the departed 
one; 

Let me not vex with inharmonious sighs 
315 The silence of that heart's accepted sacrifice. 



XXXVI. 

Our Adonais has drunk poison — oh. 
What deaf and viperous murderer could crown 
Life's early cup with such a draught of woe ? 
The nameless worm would now itself disown; 
320 It felt, yet could escape the magic tone 

Whose prelude held all envy, hate and wrong, 
But what was howling in one breast alone. 
Silent with expectation of the song. 
Whose master's hand is cold, whose silver lyre 
imstrung. 

XXXVII. 

325 Live thou, whose infamy is not thy fame ! 

Live! fear no heavier chastisement from me, 
Thou noteless blot on a remembered name! 
But be thyself, and know thyself to be ! 



430 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

And ever at thy season be thou free 
330 To spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow; 

Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee; 
Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow, 
And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt — as 



XXXVIII. 

Nor let us weep that our delight is fled 
335 Far from these carrion kites that scream below ; 
He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead; 
Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now. 
Dust to the dust ! but the pure spirit shall flow 
Back to the burning fountain whence it came, 
340 A portion of the Eternal, which must glow 

Through time and change, unquenchably the 
same. 
Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth 
of shame. 



XXXIX. 

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not 

sleep — 
He hath awakened from the dream of life — 
345 'Tis we, who, lost in stormy visions, keep 
With phantoms an unprofitable strife. 
And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's 

knife 
Invulnerable nothings. We decay 
Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief 
350 Convulse us and consume us day by day, 

And cold hopes swarm like worms within our liv- 
ing clay. 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 431 

XL. 

He has outsoared the shadow of our night; 
Envy and calumny and hate and pain, 
And that unrest which men miscall delight, 

355 Can touch him not and torture not again; 

From the contagion of the world's slow stain 
He is secure, and now can never mourn 
A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain ; 
ISTor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, 

360 With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn. 

XLI. 

He lives, he wakes— 'tis Death is dead, not he ; 
Mourn not for Adonais.— Thou young Dawn, 
Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee 
The spirit thou lamentest is not gone; 
365 Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan ! 

Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou 

Air, 
Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst 

thrown 
O'er the abandoned Earth, now leave it bare 
Even to the joyous stars which smile on its 

despair ! 

XLII. 

370 He is made one with Nature : there is heard 
His voice in all her music, from the moan 
Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird; 
He is a presence to be felt and known 
In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, 

375 Spreading itself where'er that Power may move 
Which has withdrawn his being to its own; 
Which wields the world with never wearied 
love, 
Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above. 



432 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



XLIII. 



He is a portion of the loveliness 
380 Which once he made more lovely : he doth bear 
His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress 
Sweeps through the dull dense world, compel- 
ling there. 
All new successions to the forms they wear; 
Torturing th' unwilling dross that checks its 
flight 
385 To its own likeness, as each mass may bear, 
And bursting in its beauty and its might 
From trees and beasts and men into the Heaven's 
light. 

XLIV. 

The splendours of the firmament of time 
May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not; 
390 Like stars to their appointed height they climb. 
And death is a low mist which cannot blot 
The brightness it may veil. When lofty 

thought 
Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, 
And love and life contend in it for what 
395 Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there 
And move like winds of light on dark and stormy 
air. 

XLV. 

The inheritors of unfulfilled renown 

Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal 

thought. 
Far in the Unapparent. Chatterton 
400 Rose pale, — his solemn agony had not 

Yet faded from him; Sidney, as he fought 
And as he fell and as he lived and loved. 
Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot, 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 433 

Arose; and Lucan, by his death approved; 
405 Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing re- 
proved. 

XLVI. 

And many more, whose names on Earth are 

dark. 
But whose transmitted effluence cannot di© 
So long as fire outlives the parent spark, 
Rose, robed in dazzling immortality. 
410 " Thou art become as one of us," they cry ; 

" It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long 
Swung blind in unascended majesty. 
Silent alone amid an Heaven of song. 
Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our 

throng!" 

XLVII. 

415 Who mourns for Adonais? oh, come forth. 

Fond wretch ! and know thyself and him aright. 
Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous 

Earth; 
As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light 
Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might 
420 Satiate the void circumference; then shrink 
Even to a point within our day and night; 
And keep thy heart light lest it make thee sink 
When hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to 
the brink. 

XLVIII. 

Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre 
425 Oh, not of him, but of our joy: 'tis naught 
That ages, empires, and religions there 
Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought; 



434 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

For such as he can lend, — they borrow not 
Glory from those who made the world their 
prey; 
430 And he is gathered to the kings of thought 

Who waged contention with their time's decay, 
And of the past are all that cannot pass away. 



XLIX. 

Go thou to Rome, — at once the Paradise, 
The grave, the city, and the wilderness ; 
435 And where its wrecks like shattered mountains 
rise. 
And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress 
The bones of Desolation's nakedness. 
Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead 
Thy footsteps to a slope of green access, 
440 Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead 
A light of laughing flowers along the grass is 
spread. 



And gray walls moulder round, on which dull 
Time 
Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand ; 
And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, 
445 Pavilioning the dust of him who planned 
This refuge for his memory, doth stand 
Like flame transformed to marble; and beneath 
A field is spread, on which a newer band 
Have pitched in Heaven's smile their camp of 
death, 
450 Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished 
breath. 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 435 

LI, 

Here pause: these graves are all too young as 

yet 
To have outgrown the sorrow which consigned 
Its charge to each; and if the seal is set, 
Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind, 
455 Break it not thou! too surely shalt thou find 
Thine own well full, if thou returnest home. 
Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter 

wind 
Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. 
What Adonais is, why fear we to become? 



LII. 



460 The One remains, the many change and pass; 
Heaven's light forever shines. Earth's shadows 
fly; 

Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, 
Stains the white radiance of Eternity, 
Until Death tramples it to fragments. — Die, 
465 If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost 
seek! 
Follow where all is fled ! — Kome's azure sky. 
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak 
The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to 
speak. 



LIII. 



Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my 
Heart? 
470 Thy hopes are gone before ; from all things here 
They have departed ; thou shouldst now depart I 
A light is past from the revolving year. 



436 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

And man, and woman ; and what still is dear 
Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. 
475 The soft sky smiles, — the low wind whispers 
near; 
'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither, 
'No more let Life divide what Death can join 
together. 

LIV. 

That Light whose smile kindles the Universe, 
That Beauty in which all things work and 
move, 

480 That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse 

Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love 
Which through the web of being blindly wove 
By man and beast and earth and air and sea, 
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of 

485 The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me. 
Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality. 

LV. 

The breath whose might I have invoked in 

song 
Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven 
Far from the shore, far from the trembling 

throng 
490 Whose sails were never to the tempest given ; 

The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! 

I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; 

Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of 

Heaven, 
The soul of Adonais, like a star, 
495 Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are. 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 437 



TIME 

(1821) 

Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years, 
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe 
Are brackish with the salt of human tears ! 

Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow 
6 Claspest the limits of mortality. 

And sick of prey, yet howling on for more, 
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore; 
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm. 
Who shall put forth on thee, 
10 Unfathomable Sea? 

TO 

(1821) 

Music, when soft voices die. 
Vibrates in the memory; 
Odours, when sweet violets sicken; 
Live within the sense they quicken. 

6 Rose leaves, when the rose is dead. 
Are heaped for the beloved's bed; 
And so thy thoughts, when thou are gone, 
Love itself shall slumber on. 

TO NIGHT 

(1821) 
I. 

Swiftly walk over the western wave. 

Spirit of Night ! 
Out of the misty eastern cave. 
Where all the long and lone daylight 
5 Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear. 
Which make thee terrible and dear, — 

Swift be thy flight ! 



438 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

II. 

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, 
Star-inwrought ! 
10 Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; 
Kiss her until she be wearied out ; 
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, 
Touching all with thine opiate wand — 
Come, long-sought! 

III. 

15 When I arose and saw the dawn, 
I sighed for thee; 
When light rode high, and the dew was gone. 
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree. 
And the weary Day turned to his rest, 
20 Lingering like an unloved guest, 
I sighed for thee. 

IV. 

Thy brother Death came, and cried, 

Wouldst thou me? 
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 
25 Murmured like a noontide bee, 
Shall I nestle at thy side? 
Would'st thou me? — and I replied, 

No, not thee! 

V. 

Death will come when thou art dead, 

30 Soon, too soon; 

Sleep will come when thou art fled; 
Of neither would I ask the boon 
I ask of thee, beloved Night, — 
Swift be thine approaching flight, 

35 Come soon, soon ! 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 439 

A LAMENT 

(1831) 

I. 

O world! O life! O time! 
On whose last steps I climb. 

Trembling at that where I had stood before; 
When will return the glory of your prime ? 
5 No more — oh, never more! 

II. 

Out of the day and night 
A joy has taken flight; 

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, 
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight 
10 No more — oh, never more! 

TO 

(1821) 



One word is too often profaned 

For me to profane it, 
One feeling too falsely disdained 

For thee to disdain it ; 
5 One hope is too like despair 

For prudence to smother. 
And pity from thee more dear 

Than that from another. 

II. 

I can give not what men call love, 
10 But wilt thou accept not 

The worship the heart lifts above 
And the Heavens reject not, — 



440 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

The desire of the moth for the star, 
Of the night for the morrow, 
15 The devotion to something afar 
From the sphere of our sorrow? 



Jobn 1keat5 

1795-1821 

THE EVE OF ST. AGNES 

(1820) 

I. 

St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was ! 

The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; 

The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen 

grass. 
And silent was the flock in woolly fold : 
5 l^umb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he 

told 
His rosary, and while his frosted breath, 
Like pious incense from a censer old, 
Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a 

death. 
Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer 

he saith. 

II. 

10 His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man ; 

Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees. 
And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, 
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees: 
The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to 
freeze, 

15 Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails: 

Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries. 



JOHN KEATS 441 

He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails 
To think how they may ache in icy hoods and 
mails. 

III. 

Northward he turneth through a little door, 
20 And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden 
tongue 
Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor; 
But no — already had his deathbell rung ; 
The joys of all his life were said and sung; 
His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' eve : 
25 Another way he went, and soon among 
Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve. 
And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to 
grieve. 

That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft ; 
And so it chanc'd, for many a door was wide, 

30 From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft. 

The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide: 
The level chambers, ready with their pride. 
Were glowing to receive a thousand guests : 
The carved angels, ever eager-ey'd, 

35 Star'd, where upon their heads the cornice rests. 
With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise 
on their breasts. 

V. 

At length burst in the argent revelry. 
With plume, tiara, and all rich array, 
Numerous as shadows haunting faerily 
40 The brain, newstuff'd in youth, with triumphs 
gay 



442 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Of old romance. These let us wish away, 
And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there. 
Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day, 
On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care, 
45 As she had heard old dames full many times 
declare. 

VI. 

They told her how, upon St. Agnes' eve. 
Young virgins might have visions of delight. 
And soft adorings from their loves receive 
Upon the honey'd middle of the night, 
50 If ceremonies due they did aright; 

As, supperless to bed they must retire. 
And couch supine their beauties, lily white; 
Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require 
Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they 
desire. 

YII. 

55 Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline: 
The music, yearning like a God in pain. 
She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine 
Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train 
Pass by — she heeded not at all : in vain 

60 Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier. 

And back retir'd; not cool'd by high disdain. 
But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere: 
She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the 
year. 

VIII. 

She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes, 
65 Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and 
short : 
The hallow'd hour was near at hand : she sighs 
Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd I'esort 



JOHN KEATS 443 

Of whisperers in anger, or in sport ; 
'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn, 
70 Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort. 
Save to St. Agnes snd her lambs unshorn. 
And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn. 

IX. 

So, purposing each moment to retire. 
She lingered still. Meantime, across the 
moors, 
75 Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire 
For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, 
Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and im- 
plores 
All saints to give him sight of Madeline, 
But for one moment in the tedious hours, 
80 That he might gaze and worship all unseen ; 
Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss — in sooth such 
things have been. 

X. 

He ventures in : let no buzz'd whisper tell : 
All eyes be mufiled, or a hundred swords 
Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel: 

85 For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes. 
Hyena foeman, and hot-blooded lords. 
Whose very dogs would execrations howl 
Against his lineage : not one breast affords 
Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, 

90 Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul. 

XI. 

Ah, happy chance ! the aged creature came. 
Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand. 
To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame, 
Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond 



444 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

95 The sound of 

He startled her ; but soon she knew his face, 
And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand, 
Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this 
place ; 
" They are all here to-night, the whole blood- 
thirsty race ! 

XII. 

100 " Get hence ! get hence ! there's dwarfish Hilde- 
brand ; 
" He had a fever late, and in the fit 
" He cursed thee and thine, both house and 

land: 
" Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a 

whit 
" More tame for his grey hairs — Alas me ! flit I 
105 " Flit like a ghost away." — " Ah, Gossip dear, 
" We're safe enough ; here in this armchair sit, 
" And tell me how " — " Good Saints not 
here, not here: 
" Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy 
bier." 

XIII. 

He follow'd through a lowly arched way, 
110 Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume. 
And as she mutter'd " Well-a-well-a-day ! " 
He found him in a little moonlight room. 
Pale, lattic'd, chill, and silent as a tomb. 
" Now tell me where is Madeline," said he, 
115 " O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom 

" Which none but secret sisterhood may see, 
" When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving 
piously." 



JOHN KEATS 445 



XIV. 



" St. Agnes ! Ah ! it is St. Agnes' Eve— 
" Yet men will murder upon holy days : 
120 " Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve, 

" And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays, 
" To venture so : it fills me with amaze 
" To see thee, Porphyro ! — St. Agnes' Eve ! 
" God's help ! my lady fair the conjurer plays 
125 " This very night : good angels her deceive ! 
" But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to 
grieve." 

XV. 

Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, 
While Porphyro upon her face doth look. 
Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone 

130 Who keepeth clos'd a wondrous riddle-book. 
As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. 
But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told 
His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook 
Tears, at the thought of those enchantments 
cold, 

135 And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. 

XVI. 

Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, 
Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart 
Made purple riot : then doth he propose 
A stratagem, that makes the beldame start: 
140 " A cruel man and impious thou art : 

" Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and 

dream 
" Alone with her good angels, far apart 
" From wicked men like thee. Go, go ! — I 

deem 
" Thou canst not surely be the same that thou 

didst seem." 



446 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



XVII. 



145 " I will not harm her, by all saints I swear," 
Quoth Porphyro : " O may I ne'er find grace 
" When my weak voice shall whisper its last 

prayer, 
" If one of her soft ringlets I displace, 
" Or look with rufiian i^assion in her face ; 
150 " Good Angela, believe me by these tears ; 
- " Or I will, even in a moment's space, 

" Awake, with horrid shout, my f oemen's ears, 
" And beard them, though they be more fang'd 
than wolves and bears." 

XYIII. 

" Ah ! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul ? 
155 " A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard 
thing, 
" Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll ; 
" Whose prayers for thee, each morn and even- 
ing, 
" Were never miss'd." — Thus plaining, doth 

she bring 
A gentler speech from burning Porphyro; 
160 So woful, and of such deep sorrowing. 
That Angela gives promise she will do 
Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe. 

XIX. 

Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, 
Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide 
165 Him in a closet, of such privacy 

That he might see her beauty unespy'd, 
And win perhaps that night a peerless bride, 
While legion'd f a'ries pac'd the coverlet. 
And pale enchantment held her sleepy-ey'd. 



I 
I 



JOHN KEATS 447 

170 Never on such a night have lovers met, 

Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous 
debt. 

XX. 

" It shall be as thou wishest," said the Dame : 
" All cates and dainties shall be stored there 
" Quickly on this feast-night : by the tambour 
frame 
175 " Her own lute thou wilt see : no time to spare, 
" For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare 
" On such a catering trust my dizzy head. 
" Wait here, my child, with patience ; kneel in 

prayer 
" The while : Ah ! thou must needs the lady wed, 
180 " Or may I never leave my grave among the 
dead." 

XXI. 

So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear. 
The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd; 
The dame return'd and whisper'd in his ear 
To follow her; with aged eyes aghast 
185 From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, 
Through many a dusky gallery, they gain 
The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd, and 

chaste ; 
Where Porphyro took covert, pleas'd amain. 
His poor guide hurried back with agues in her 

brain. 

XXII. 

190 Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade, 
Old Angela was feeling for the stair. 
When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid. 
Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware: 



448 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

With silver taper's light, and pious care, 
195 She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led 
To a safe level matting. Now prepare. 
Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed; 
She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd 
and fled. 

XXIII. 

Out went the taper as she hurried in ; 
200 Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: 
She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin 
To spirits of the air, and visions .wide : 
No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! 
But to her heart, her heart was voluble, 
205 Paining with eloquence her balmy side ; 

As though a tongueless nightingale should swell 
Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her 
dell. 

XXIV. 

A casement high and triple-arch'd there was. 
All garlanded with carven imag'ries 
210 Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot- 
grass. 
And diamonded with panes of quaint device. 
Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes. 
As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; 
And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, 
215 And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, 
A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of 
queens and kings. 

XXV. 

Full on this casement shone the wintry moon. 
And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair 

breast. 
As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon ; 
220 Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, 



JOHN KEATS 449 

And on her silver cross soft amethyst, 
And on her hair a glory, like a saint : 
She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, 
Save wings, for heaven : — Porphyro grew faint : 
225 She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal 
taint. 

XXVI. 

Anon his heart revives : her vespers done. 
Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees ; 
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one ; 
Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees 
230 Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees: 
Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, 
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, 
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed. 
But dares not look behind, or all the charm is 
fled. 

XXVII. 

235 Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest. 
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay. 
Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd 
Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; 
Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day; 

240 Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; 

Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims 

pray; 
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, 
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. 

XXVIII. 

Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, 
245 Porphyro gaz'd upon her empty dress, 

And listened to her breathing, if it chanced 
To wake into a slumberous tenderness; 



450 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Which when he heard, that minute did he bless 
And breath'd himself: then from the closet 
crept, 
250 Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness. 

And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept, 
And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo! — how 
fast she slept. 

XXIX. 

Then by the bed-side where the faded moon 
Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set 

255 A table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereon 
A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet : — 
O for some drowsy Morphean amulet! 
The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, 
The kettle-drum and far-heard clarionet, 

260 Affray his ears, though but in dying tone: — 
The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise is 
gone. 

XXX. 

And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep. 
In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd, 
While he forth from the closet brought a heap 

265 Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and 
gourd ; 
With jellies soother than the creamy curd, 
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon ; 
Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd 
From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, 

270 From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon. 

XXXI. 

These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand 
On golden dishes and in baskets bright 
Of wreathed silver : sumptuous they stand 
In the retired quiet of the night, 



JOHN KEATS 451 

275 Filling the chilly room with perfumed light— 
" And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake ! 
" Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite : 
" Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, 
" Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth 
ache." 

XXXII. 

280 Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm 
Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream 
By the dusk curtains: — 'twas a midnight 

charm 
Impossible to melt as iced stream : 
The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; 

285 Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies : 
It seem'd he never, never could redeem 
From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes ; 
So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies. 

XXXIII. 

Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,— 
290 Tumultuous,— and,— in chords that tender- 
est be. 
He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute, 
In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans 

mercy : " 
Close to her ear touching the melody; — 
Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan: 
295 He ceas'd — she panted quick — and suddenly 
Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone : 
Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth- 
sculptured-stone. 

XXXIV. 
Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, 
Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: 
300 There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd 
The blisses of her dream so pure and deepj 



452 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

At which fair Madeline began to weep, 

And moan forth witless words with many a 

sigh. 
While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; 
305 Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, 
Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dream- 
ingly. 

XXXV. 

" Ah, Porphyro ! " said she, " but even now 
" Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, 
" Made tuneable with every sweetest vow ; 
310 " And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear : 
" How chang'd thou art ! how pallid, chill, and 

drear ! 
" Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, 
" Those looks immortal, those complainings 

dear! 
" Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, 
315 " For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where 
to go." 

XXXVI. 

Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far 
At these voluptuous accents, he arose. 
Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star 
Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; 
320 Into her dream he melted, as the rose 
Blended its odour with the violet, — 
Solution sweet : meantime the frost-wind blows 
Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet 
Against the window-panes ; St. Agnes' moon hath 
set. 

XXXVII. 

325 'Tis dark : quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet : 
" This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline ! " 
'Tis dark : the iced gusts still rave and beat : 
" No dream, alas ! alas ! and woe is mine ! 



JOHN KEATS 453 

"Porphyro will leave me here to fade and 
pine. — 
330 " Cruel ! what traitor could thee hither bring ? 
" I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, 
" Though thou f orsakest a deceived thing ; — 
"A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned 
wing." 

XXXVIII. 

" My Madeline ! sweet dreamer ! lovely bride ! 

835 " Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest ? 

" Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil 

dy'd? 
" Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest 
" After so many hours of toil and quest, 
"A famish'd pilgrim, — sav'd by miracle. 

340 " Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest 
" Saving of thy sweet self ; if thou think'st well 
" To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. 

XXXIX. 

"Hark! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land, 
" Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed : 
345 " Arise — arise ! the morning is at hand ; — 
" The bloated wassailers will never heed : — 
" Let us away, my love, with happy speed ; 
" There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, — 
" Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead : 
350 " Awake ! arise ! my love, and fearless be, 

"For o'er the southern moors I have a home for 
thee." 

XL. 

She hurried at his words, beset with fears. 
For there were sleeping dragons all around. 
At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears — 
355 Down the wide stairs a darkling way they 
found. — 



454 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

In all the house was heard no human sound. 
A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each 

door; 
The arras rich with horseman, hawk, and 

hound, 
Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar; 
360 And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor. 

XLI. 

They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; 
Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide; 
Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl. 
With a huge empty flagon by his side : 
365 The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his 

hide. 
But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: 
By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide : — 
The chains lie silent on the footworn stones; — 
The key turns, and the door upon its hinges 

groans. 

XLII. 

S70 And they are gone: ay, ages long ago 
These lovers fled away into the storm. 
That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe. 
And all his warrior-guests, with shade and 

form 
Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, 
375 Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old 

Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform; 
The Beadsman, after thousand aves told. 
For aye unsought-for slept amongst his ashes 
cold. 



JOHN KEATS 455 

ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE 

(1819) 



My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 
5 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, 

But being too happy in thine happiness, — 
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees. 
In some melodious plot 
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 
10 S ingest of summer in full-throated ease. 



II. 

O, for a draught of vintage ! that hath been 

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth. 
Tasting of Flora and the country green, 
Dance, and Provengal song, and sunburnt 
mirth ! 
15 O for a beaker full of the warm South, 

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 
And purple-stained mouth; 
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, 
20 And with thee fade away into the forest dim : 



III. 

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 

What thou among the leaves hast never known. 

The weariness, the fever, and the fret 

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; 



456 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

25 Where palsy shakes a few, sad, gray hairs, 

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and 
dies; 
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow 
And leaden-ey'd despairs, 
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 
30 Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 

IV. 

Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, 

'Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards. 
But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: 
35 Already with thee ! tender is the night. 

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, 
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; 
But here there is no light, 
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown 
40 Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy 
ways. 

V. 

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, 

ISTor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs. 
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet 
Wherewith the seasonable month endows 
45 The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; 
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; 
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; 
And mid-May's eldest child. 
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, 
60 The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 

VI. 

Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time 

I have been half in love with easeful Death, 

Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme. 
To take into the air my quiet breath; 



JOHN KEATS 457 

55 Now more than ever seems it rich to die. 

To cease upon the midnight with no pain, 

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad 
In such an ecstasy ! 
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — 
'60 To thy high requiem become a sod. 

VII. 

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 
No hungry generations tread thee down ; 
NC,^ I The voice I hear this passing night was heard 
In ancient days by emperor and clown : 
Perhaps the self -same song that found a path 
Through the sad heart of Kuth, when, sick for 
home. 
She stood in tears amid the alien corn; 
The same that oft-times hath 
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam 
70 Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 

VIII. 

Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell 

To toll me back from thee to my sole self ! 
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well 
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. 
75 Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 

Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 
Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep 
In the next valley-glades : 
Was it a vision, or a waking dream? 
80 Fled is that music : — Do I wake or sleep ? 



458 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

ODE ON A GRECIAN URN 
(Written 1819) 



Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness. 

Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, 
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express 

A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme : 
6 What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape 
Of deities or mortals, or of both. 

In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? 
What men or gods are these? What maidens 
loth? 
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? 
10 What pipes and timbrels ? What wild ecstasy ? 



II. 

'Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 

Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; 
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd. 
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone : 
15 Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave 
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; 
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss. 
Though winning near the goal — yet, do not 
grieve ; 
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, 
20 For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! 

III. 

Ah! happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed 
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; 

And, happy melodist, unwearied. 
For ever piping songs for ever new; 



JOHN KEATS 459 

25 More happy love ! more happy, happy love ! 
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, 
For ever panting, and for ever young; 
All breathing human passion far above. 
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, 
30 A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. 

IV. 

Who are these coming to the sacrifice ? 

To what green altar, O mysterious priest, 
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, 
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? 
35 What little town by river or sea shore, 

Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel. 
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? 
And, little town, thy streets for evermore 
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell 
40 Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. 



V. 

O Attic shape ! Fair attitude ! with brede 

Of marble men and maidens overwrought, 
With forest branches and the trodden weed; 

fThou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought 
^s doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! 
When old age shall this generation waste, 
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe 
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 
V " Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all 
50 Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. 



460 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

TO AUTUMN 
(Written 1819 ?) 



Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; 
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 

With fruit the vines that round the thatch- 
eaves run ; 
5 To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel 
shells 
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more. 
And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
10 Until they think warm days will never cease. 
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy 
cells. 



IT. 

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? 
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 
15 Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; 
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, 

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy 
hook 
Spares the next swath and all its twined 
flowers : 
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 
20 Steady thy laden head across a brook; 
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look. 

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by 
hours. 



JOHN KEATS 461 



III. 



Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are 
they? 
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — 
25 While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, 
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; 
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
Among the river sallows, borne aloft 

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; 
30 And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly 
bourn ; 
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft 
The red-breast whistles from a garden croft; 
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI 

(1820) 

I. 

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, 

Alone and palely loitering; 
The sedge is wither'd from the lake. 

And no birds sing. 

II. 

5 Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, 
So haggard and so woe-begone ? 
The squirrel's granary is full, 
And the harvest's done. 

III. 

I see a lily on thy brow, 
10 With anguish moist and fever dew; 
And on thy cheek a fading rose 
Fast withereth too. 



462 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

lY. 

I met a lady in the meads, 
Full beautiful, a faery's child; 
15 Her hair was long, her foot was light, 
And her eyes were wild. 

V. 

I set her on my pacing steed, 

And nothing else saw all day long ; 
For sideways would she lean and sing 
20 A faery's song. 

VI. 

I made a garland for her head. 
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; 

She look'd at me as she did love. 
And made sweet moan. 

VII. 

25 She found me roots of relish sweet, 
And honey wild, and manna dew ; 
And sure in language strange she said, 
I love thee true. 

VIII. 

She took me to her elfin grot, 
30 And there she gaz'd and sighed deep; 
And there I shut her wild sad eyes — 
So kissed to sleep. 

IX. 

And there we slumber'd on the moss. 
And there I dream'd, ah woe betide, 
35 The latest dream I ever dream'd, 
On the cold hill side, 



JOHN KEATS 463 



X. 



I saw pale kings, and princes too, 

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; 
Who cry'd — " La belle Dame sans merci 
40 Hath thee in thrall ! " 

XI. 

I saw their starv'd lips in the gloom, 
With horrid warning gaped wide, 

And I awoke, and found me here 
On the cold hill side. 

XII. 

45 And this is why 1 sojourn here 
Alone and palely loitering, 
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake 
And no birds sing. 



SONNETS 
ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER 

(Written 1816) 

XI. 

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold. 

And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; 

Round many western islands have I been 
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 
6 Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 

That deep-brow'd Homer rul'd as his demesne; 

Yet did I never breathe its pure serene 
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: 



464 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
10 When a new planet swims into his ken; 
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes 

He star'd at the Pacific — and all his men 
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — 

Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 

SONNET 

(June, 1816) 

To one who has been long in city pent, 
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair 
And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer 

Full in the smile of the blue firmament. 
5 Who is more happy, when, with heart's content. 
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair 
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair 

And gentle tale of love and languishment ? 

Returning home at evening, with an ear 
10 Catching the notes of Philomel, — an eye • 

Watching the sailing cloudlets' bright career. 
He mourns that day so soon has glided by: 

E'en like the passage of an angel's tear 
That falls through the clear ether silently. 

XV. 

ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET 
(Written December 30th, 1816) 

The poetry of earth is never dead: 

When all the birds are faint with the hot sun. 
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run 

From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead ; 
5 That is the Grasshopper's — he takes the lead 
In summer luxury, — he has never done 
With his delights ; for when tired out with fun 

He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. 



JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT 465 

The poetry of earth is ceasing never: 
10 On a lone winter evening, when the frost 

Has wrought a silence, from the stove there 
shrills 
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, 
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost. 
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills. 

LAST SONNET 
(Written on a Blank Page iu Shakespeare's Poems, Facing 
" A Lover's Complaint ") 
(Written 1820) 

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art — 

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night 
And watching, with eternal lids apart, 

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, 
6 The moving waters at their priestlike task 

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, 
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask 

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors — 
No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, 
10 Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, 
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell. 

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest. 
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath. 
And so live ever — or else swoon to death. 

5ame9 1benr^ Xetgb 1bunt 

1784-1859 
TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET 

(1816) 
Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, 
Catching your heart up at the feel of June, 
Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon. 
When even the bees lag at the summoning brass; 



466 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

5 And you, warm little housekeeper, who class 
With those who think the candles come too soon, 
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune 
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass; 

Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, 
10 One to the fields, the other to the hearth. 

Both have your sunshine ; both, though small, are 

strong 
At your clear hearts ; and both seem giv'n to earth 
To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song — 
In doors and out, summer and winter. Mirth. 

Malter Savage Xanbor 

1775-1864 
MILD IS THE PARTING YEAR, AND SWEET 

(Collected Works, 1846) 
Mild is the parting year, and sweet 

The odour of the falling spray; 
Life passes on more rudely fleet. 
And balmless is its closing day. 
5 I wait its close, I court its gloom, 

But mourn that never must there fall 
Or on my breast or on my tomb 

The tear that would have sooth'd it all. 

AH WHAT AVAILS THE SCEPTERED RACE 
(From the same) 

Ah what avails the sceptered race, 

Ah what the form divine! 
What every virtue, every grace! 

Rose Aylmer, all were thine, 
5 Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes 

May weep, but never see, 
A night of memories and of sighs 

I consecrate to thee. 



WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 467 



YES ; I WRITE VERSES 

(From the same) 

Yes; I write verses now and then. 
But blunt and flaccid is my pen. 
No longer talkt of by young men 

As rather clever: 
6 In the last quarter are my eyes. 
You see it by their form and size; 
Is it not time then to be wise? 

Or now or never. 
Fairest that ever sprang from Eve ! 
10 While Time allows the short reprieve, 
Just look at me! would you believe 

'Twas once a lover? 
I cannot clear the five-bar gate 
But, trying first its timber's state, 
15 Climb stiffly up, take breath, and wait 

To trundle over. 
Thro' gallopade I cannot swing 
The entangling blooms of Beauty's spring 
I cannot say the tender thing, 
20 Be't true or false, 

And am beginning to opine 
Those girls are only half-divine 
Whose waists yon wicked boys entwine 

In giddy waltz. 
25 I fear that arm above that shoulder, 
I wish them wiser, graver, older, 
Sedater, and no harm if colder 

And panting less. 
Ah! people were not half so wild 
30 In former days, when starchly mild, 
Upon her high-heel'd Essex smiled 

The Brave Queen 



468 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



TO ROBERT BROWNING 

(From the same) 

There is delight in singing, tho' none hear 
Beside the singer; and there is delight 
In praising, tho' the praiser sit alone 
And see the prais'd far off him, far above. 
5 Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's, 
Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee, 
Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale, 
1^0 man hath walkt along our roads with step 
So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue 
10 So varied in discourse. But warmer climes 

Give brighter plumage, stronger wing : the breeze 
Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on 
Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where 
The Siren waits thee, singing song for song. 

INTRODUCTION TO 
THE LAST FRUIT OFF AN OLD TREE 

(1853) 
I strove with none, for none was worth my strife. 
Nature I loved, and, next to N'ature, Art ; 
I warmed both hands before the fire of Life ; 
It sinks, and I am ready to depart. 

Bri^an Mallet Procter 

(Barry Cornwall) 

1787-1874 

A PETITION TO TIME 

(From Poems, 1850) 

Touch us gently. Time! 

Let us glide adown thy stream 
Gently, — as we sometimes glide 

Through a quiet dream! 



HABTLEY COLERIDOE 460 

5 Humble voyagers are We, 

Husband, wife, and children three — 
(One is lost, — an angel, fled 
To the azure overhead!) 

Touch us gently. Time! 
10 We've not proud nor soaring wings : 

Our ambition, our' content 
Lies in simple things. 

Humble voyagers are We, 

O'er Life's dim unsounded sea, 
15 Seeking only some calm clime: — 

Touch us gently, gentle Time ! 



Ibartlei? ColertOQC 

1796-1849 

SONG 

(1851) 

She is not fair to outward view 

As many maidens be. 
Her loveliness I never knew 
Until she smiled on me; 
5 Oh ! then I saw her eye was bright, 
A well of love, a spring of light. 

But now her looks are coy and cold, 

To mine they ne'er reply, 
And yet I cease not to behold 
10 The love-light in her eye: 
Her very frowns are fairer far. 
Than smiles of other maidens are. 



470 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



Cbarles Xamb 

1775-1834 
TO HESTER 

(1805) 

When maidens such as Hester die, 
Their place ye may not well supply. 
Though ye among a thousand try. 
With vain endeavour. 

5 A month or more hath she been dead. 
Yet cannot I by force be led 
To think upon the wormy bed, 
And her together. 

A springy motion in her gait, 
10 A rising step, did indicate 

Of pride and joy no common rate, 
That flushed her spirit. 

I know not by what name beside 
I shall it call; — if 'twas not pride, 
15 It was a joy to th£.t allied. 
She did inherit. 

Her parents held the Quaker rule. 
Which doth the human feeling cool, 
But she was train'd in Nature's school, 
20 Nature had blest her. 



A waking eye, a prying mind, 
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind, 
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, 
Ye could not Hester. 



THOMAS HOOD 4*71 

25 My sprightly neighbour, gone before 
To that unknown and silent shore, 
Shall we not meet, as heretofore. 
Some summer morning, 

When from thy cheerful eyes a ray 
30 Hath struck a bliss upon the day, 
A bliss that would not go away, 
A sweet fore-warning? 



Ubomas Iboo^ 

1798-1845 
THE DEATH BED 

(From Poems, 1825) 

We watched her breathing thro' the night, 

Her breathing soft and low. 
As in her breast the wave of life 

Kept heaving to and fro. 

5 So silently we seemed to speak. 
So slowly moved about. 
As we had lent her half our powers 
To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears, 
10 Our fears our hopes belied — 

We thought her dying when she slept. 
And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came dim and sad. 
And chill with early showers, 
15 Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 
Another morn than ours. 



412 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS 

(" Drowned ! drowned !" — Hamlet) 

(First published in Hood's Magazine, 1844) 

One more Unfortunate, 
Weary of breath, 
Rashly importunate. 
Gone to her death! 

5 Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care; 
Fashioned so slenderly. 
Young, and so fair! 

Look at her garments 
10 Clinging like cerements; 
Whilst the wave constantly 
Drips from her clothing; 
Take her up instantly. 
Loving, not loathing. — 

15 Touch her not scornfully; 

Think of her mournfully. 

Gently and humanly; 

Not of the stains of her. 

All that remains of her 
20 Now is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny 
Rash and undutif ul : 
Past all dishonor, 
25 Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

Still, for all slips of hers. 
One of Eve's family — 
Wipe those poor lips of hers 
30 Oozing so clammily. 



THOMAS HOOD 4V8 

Loop up her tresses 
Escaped from the comb, 
Her fair auburn tresses; 
Whilst wonderment guesses 
35 Where was her home? 

Who was her father? 
Who was her mother? 
Had she a sister? 
Had she a brother? 
40 Or was there a dearer one 
Still, and a nearer one 
Yet, than all other? 

Alas ! for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 
45 Under the sun ! 
Oh ! it was pitiful ! 
Near a whole city full. 
Home she had none. 

Sisterly, brotherly, 
50 Fatherly, motherly 

Feelings had changed: 

Love, by harsh evidence. 

Thrown from its eminence; 

Even God's providence 
55 Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 
So far in the river. 
With many a light 
From window and casement, 
60 From garret to basement. 
She stood, with amazement. 
Houseless by night. 



474 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

The bleak wind of March 
Made her tremble and shiver ; 

65 But not the dark arch, 
Or the black flowing river : 
Mad from life's history, 
Glad to death's mystery, 
Swift to be hurled — 

70 Anywhere, anywhere 
Out of the world. 

In she plunged boldly, 
No matter how coldly 
The rough river ran, — 
75 Over the brink of it. 
Picture it — think of it, 
Dissolute Man! 
Lave in it, drink of it. 
Then, if you can ! 

80 Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care; 
Fashioned so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair! 

Ere her limbs frigidly 
85 Stiffen too rigidly, 
Decently, — kindly, — 
Smooth, and compose them; 
And her eyes, close them, 
Staring so blindly! 

90 Dreadfully staring 
Thro' muddy impurity, 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 
Fix'd on futurity. 



THOMAS HOOD 475 

95 Perishing gloomily. 
Spurred by contumely. 
Cold inhumanity. 
Burning insanity, 
Into her rest. — 
100 Cross her hands humbly 
As if praying dumbly. 
Over her breast. 

Owning her weakness. 
Her evil behavior, 
105 And leaving, with meekness. 
Her sins to her Saviour! 



PART FIFTH 
VICTORIAN VERSE 

XTbomas JBabington /iDacaulai? 

1800-1859 
BATTLE OF IVRY 

(1842) 

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all 

glories are! 
And glory of our Sovereign Liege, King Henry 

of Navarre! 
Now let there be the merry souud of music and 

of dance. 
Through thy corn-fields green and sunny vines, 
5 O pleasant land of France! 

And thou, Eochelle, our own Kochelle, proud city 

of the waters. 
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourn- 
ing daughters. 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in 

our joy; 
For cold and stiff and still are they who wrought 

thy walls annoy. 
10 Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turn'd the 

chance of war ! 
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of 

Navarre. 
Oh! how our hearts were beating, when, at the 

dawn of day. 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in 

lone: array; 

477 



478 VICTORIAN VERSE 

With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel 

peers, 
15 And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's 

Flemish spears; 
There rode the blood of false Lorraine, the curses 

of our land; 
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon 

in his hand; 
And, as we look'd on them, we thought of Seine's 

empurpled flood, 
And good Coligni's hoarj' hair all dabbled with his 

blood ; 
20 And we cried unto the living God, who rules the 

fate of war. 
To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of 

Navarre. 

The king is come to marshal us, in all his armor 

drest ; 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his 

gallant crest. 
He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his 

eye; 
25 He look'd upon the traitors, and his glance was 

stern and high. 
Right graciously be smil'd on us, as roll'd from 

wing to wing, 
Down all our line, in deafening shout : " God save 

our lord, the king ! " 
" And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well 

he may, 
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody 

fray, 
30 Press where ye see my white plume shine amidst 

the ranks of war. 
And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of 

Navarre." 



THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY 479 

Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the min- 
gled din, 
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and 

roaring culverin. 
The fiery duke is pricking fast across St. Andre's 

plain, 
35 With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and 

Almayne. 
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen 

of France, 
Charge for the golden lilies now upon them with 

the lance! 
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand 

spears in rest, 
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the 

snow-white crest; 
40 And in they burst, and on they rush'd, while, like 

a guiding star. 
Amidst the thickest carnage blaz'd the helmet of 

Navarre. 

Now, God be prais'd, the day is ours: Mayenne 

hath turn'd his rein, 
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter; the Flemish 

Count is slain. 
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before 

a Biscay gale; 
45 The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, 

and cloven mail; 
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along 

our van, 
" Remember St. Bartholomew ! " was pass'd from 

man to man. 
But out spake gentle Henry — " No Frenchman is 

my foe: 
Down, down with every foreigner, but let your 

brethren go." 



480 VICTORIAN VERSE 

50 Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship 
or in war. 
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of 
Navarre ? 

Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought 

for France to-day; 
And many a lordly banner God gave them for a 

prey. 
But we of the religion have borne us best in fight ; 
55 And the good lord of Rosny hath ta'en the cor- 
net white — 
Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath 

ta'en ; 
The cornet white, with crosses black the flag of 

false Lorraine. 
Up with it high; unfurl it wide; — that all the 

host may know 
How God hath humbled the proud house which 

wrought His Church such woe. 
60 Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their 

loudest point of war. 
Fling the red shreds a footcloth meet for Henry 

of Navarre. 

Ho! maidens of Vienna; ho! matrons of Luzerne 
Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who 

never shall return. 
Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican 

pistoles, 
65 That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy 

poor spearmen's souls. 
Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your 

arms be bright; 
Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and 

ward to-night; 
For our God hath crush'd the tyrant, our God 

hath rais'd the slave. 



ALFRED TENNYSON 481 

And mock'd the counsel of the wise and the valor 

of the brave. 
70 Then glory to His holy name, from whom all 

glories are; 
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of 

Navarre ! 

Hltreb Tlenni^son 

1809-1892 
LOCKSLEY HALL 

(From Poems, 1842) 

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 

'tis early morn : 
Leave me here, and when you want me, sound 

upon the bugle-horn. 

'Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, the 

curlews call. 
Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over 

Locksley Hall; 

5 Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the 
sandy tracts. 
And the hollow-ocean ridges roaring into cata 
racts. 

Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I 

went to rest, 
Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the 

West. 

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the 
mellow shade, 
10 Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver 
braid. 



482 VICTORIAN VERSE 

Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a 

youth sublime 
With the fairy tales of science, and the long result 

of Time; 

When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land 

reposed ; 
When I clung to all the present for the promise 

that it closed. 

15 When I dipt into the future far as human eye 
could see; 
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder 
that would be. — 

In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the 

robin's breast; 
In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself 

another crest; 

In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the bur- 
nish'd dove; 
20 In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns 
to thoughts of love. 

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should 

be for one so young, 
And her eyes on all my motions with a mute 

observance hung. 

And I said, ' My Cousin Amy, speak, and speak 

the truth to me, 
Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets 

to thee.' 

25 On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour 
and a light. 
As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the 
northern night. 



ALFRED TENNYSON 483 

And she turn'd — her bosom shaken with a sudden 

storm of sighs — 
All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel 

eyes — 

Saying, ' I have hid my feelings, fearing they 
should do me wrong;' 
30 Saying, ' Dost thou love me, cousin ? ' weeping, 
' I have loved thee long.' 

Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in 

his glowing hands 
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden 

sands. 

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all 

the chords with might; 
Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd 

in music out of sight. 

35 Many a morning on the moorland did we hear 
the copses ring, 
And her whisper throiig'd my pulses with the full- 
ness of the Spring. 

Many an evening by the waters did we watch the 

stately ships. 
And our spirits rush'd together at the touching 

of the lips. 

O my cousin, shallow-hearted ! O my Amy, mine 
no more ! 
40 O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, 
barren shore ! 

Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all 

songs have sung, 
Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a 

shrewish tongue! 



484 VICTORIAN VERSE 

Is it well to wish thee happy ? — having known me 

— to decline 
On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart 

than mine! 

45 Yet it shall be: thou shalt lower to his level day 
by day. 
What is fine within thee growing coarse to sym- 
pathise with clay. 

As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated 

with a clown, 
And the grossness of his nature will have weight 

to drag thee down. 

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have 
spent its novel force, 
50 Something better than his dog, a little dearer 
than his horse. 

What is this? his eyes are heavy: think not they 

are glazed with wine. 
Go to him : it is thy duty : kiss him : take his hand 

in thine. 

It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is over- 
wrought : 

Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with 
thy lighter thought. 

55 He will answer to the purpose, easy things to 
understand — 
Better thou wert dead before me, tho' I slew thee 
with my hand! 

Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the 

heart's disgrace, 
Roll'd in one another's arms, and silent in a last 

embrace. 



ALFRED TENNYSON 485 

Cursed be the social wants that sin against the 
strength of youth! 
60 Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the 
living truth! 

Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest 
Nature's rule! 

Cursed be the gold that gilds the straitened fore- 
head of the fool! 

\\rell — 'tis well that I should bluster !— Hadst thou 

less unworthy proved — 
Would to God — for I had loved thee more than 

ever wife was loved. 

65 Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears 
but bitter fruit? 
I will pluck it from my bosom, tho' my heart be 
at the root. 

Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of 
years should come 

As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clang- 
ing rookery home. 

Where is comfort? in division of the records of 
the mind? 
70 Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I 
knew her, kind? 

I remember one that perish'd: sweetly did she 

speak and move : 
Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was 

to love. 

Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the 

love she bore? 
No— she never loved me truly: love is love for- 

evermore. 



486 VICTORIAN VERSE 

75 Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is truth 
the poet sings, 
That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering 
happier things. 

Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy 

heart be put to proof. 
In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain is 

on the roof. 

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art 
staring at the wall, 
80 Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the 
shadows rise and fall. 

Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to 

his drunken sleep. 
To thy widow'd marriage-pillows, to the tears that 

thou wilt weep. 

Thou shalt hear the * Never, never,' whisper'd by 

the phantom years. 
And a song from out tiie distance in the ringing 

of thine ears; 

85 And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kind- 
ness on thy pain. 
Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow: get thee to 
thy rest again. 

Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender 

voice will cry. 
'Tis a purer life than thine; a lip to drain thy 

trouble dry. 

Baby lips will laugh me down: my latest rival 
brings thee rest. 
90 Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the 
mother's breast. 



I 



ALFRED TENNYSON 487 

O, the child too clothes the father with a dearness 

not his due. 
Half is thine and half is his : it will be worthy of 

the two. 

O, I see thee, old and formal, fitted to thy petty 

part. 
With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a 

daughter's heart. 

95 * They were dangerous guides the feelings — she 
herself was not exempt — 
Truly, she herself had suifer'd ' — Perish in thy 
self-contempt ! 

Overlive it — lower yet — be happy ! wherefore 

should I care? 
I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by 

despair. 

What is that which I should turn to, lighting 
upon days like these? 
100 Every door is barr'd with gold, and opens but to 
golden keys. 

Every gate is throng'd with suitors, all the mar- 
kets overflow. 

I have but an angry fancy: what is that which 
I should do? 

I had been content to perish, falling on the foe- 
man's ground. 

When the ranks are roll'd in vapour, and the 
winds are laid with sound. 

105 But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that 
Honour feels. 
And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each 
other's heels. 



488 VICTORIAN VERSE 

Can I but relive in sadness? I will turn that 

earlier page. 
Hide me from my deep emotion, O thou wondrous 

Mother- Age ! 

Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before 
the strife, 
110 When I heard my days before me, and the tumult 
of my life; 

Yearning for the large excitement that the com- 
ing years would yield. 

Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his 
father's field. 

And at night along the dusky highway near and 

nearer drawn, 
Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like 

a dreary dawn; 

115 And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before 
him then. 
Underneath the light he looks at, in among the 
throngs of men; 

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping 

something new : 
That which they have done but earnest of the 

things that they shall do: 

For I dipt into the future, far as human eye 
could see, 
120 Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder 
that would be; 

Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of 

magic sails. 
Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with 

costly bales; 



ALFRED TENNYSON 489 

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there 

rain'd a ghastly dew 
From the nations' airy navies grappling in the 

central blue; 

125 Far along the world-wide whisper of the south- 
wind rushing warm, 
With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' 
the thunder-storm; 

Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the 

battle-flags were furl'd, 
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the 

world. 

There the common sense of most shall hold a fret- 
ful realm in awe, 
130 And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in uni- 
versal law. 

So I triumph'd ere my passion sweeping thro' me 

left me dry. 
Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with 

the jaundiced eye; 

Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are 

out of joint : 
Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on 

from point to point : 

135 Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion creeping 
nigher, 
Glares at one that nods and winks behind a 
slowly-dying fire. 

Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing 

purpose runs, 
And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the 

process of the suns. 



490 VICTORIAN VERSE 

What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his 
youthful joys, 
140 Tho' the deep heart of existence beat forever like 
a boy's? 

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I 

linger on the shore, 
And the individual withers, and the world is more 

and more. 

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he 
bears a laden breast. 

Full of sad experience, moving toward the still- 
ness of his rest. 

145 Hark, my merry comrades call me, sounding on 
the bugle-horn. 
They to whom my foolish passion were a target 
for their scorn: 

Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a 

moulder'd string? 
I am shamed thro' all my nature to have loved 

so slight a thijig. 

Weakness to be wroth with weakness! woman's 
pleasure, woman's pain — 
150 Nature made them blinder motions bounded in 
a shallower brain: 

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, 

match'd mth mine, 
Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water 

unto wine — 

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. 
Ah for some retreat 

Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life be- 
gan to beat ; 



ALFRED TENNYSON 491 

155 Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father, 
evil-starr'd ; — 
I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's 
ward. 

Or to burst all links of habit — there to wander 

far away, 
On from island unto island at the gateways of 

the day. 

Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and 
happy skies, 
160 Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, 
knots of Paradise. 

Never comes the trader, never floats an European 



Slides the b'rd o'er lustrous woodland, swings 
the trailer from the crag ; 

Droops the heavy-blossom'd bower, hangs the 

heavy-fruit'd tree — 
Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple 

spheres of sea. 

165 There methinks would be enjoyment more than in 
this march of mind. 
In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts 
that shake mankind. 

There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have 

scope and breathing space; 
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my 

dusky race. 

Iron-jointed, supple-sinew'd, they shall dive, and 
they shall run, 
170 Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their 
lances in the sun; 



492 VICTORIAN VERSE 

Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rain- 
bows of the brooks. 

Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable 
books — 

Fool, again the dream, the fancy ! but I know my 

words are wild, 
But I count the gray barbarian lower than the 

Christian child. 

175 I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our 
glorious gains. 
Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast 
with lower pains ! 

Mated with a squalid savage— what to me were 

sun or clime? 
I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of 

time — 

I that rather held it better men should perish 
one by one, 
180 Than that earth should stand at gaze like 
Joshua's moon in Ajalon ! 

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, for- 
ward let us range, 

Let the great world spin forever down the ring- 
ing grooves of change. 

Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the 

younger day : 
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of 

Cathay. 

185 Mother-Age (for mine I knew not) help me as 
when life begun: 
Bift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the 
lightnings, weigh the Sun. 



ALFRED TENNYSON 493 

O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath 

not set. 
Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my 

fancy yet. 

Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to 
Locksley Hall! 
190 Now for me the woods may wither, now for me 
the roof -tree fall. 

Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening 

over heath and holt, 
Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a 

thunderbolt. 

Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or 

fire or snow; 
For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and 

I go. 



ULYSSES 
(From the same) 

It little profits that an idle king, 
By this still hearth, among these barren crags, 
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole 
Unequal laws unto a savage race, 
6 That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. 
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink 
Life to the lees : all times I have enjoy 'd 
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those 
That loved me, and alone ; on shore, and when 
10 Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades 
Vext the dim sea : I am become a name ; 
For always roaming with a hungry heart 



494 VICTORIAN VERSE 

Much have I seen and known ; cities of men 
And manners, climates, councils, governments, 

15 Myself not least, but honour'd of them all; 
And drunk delight of battle with my peers. 
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. 
I am a part of all that I have met; 
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' 

20 Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin 
fades 
Forever and forever when I move. 
How dull it is to pause, to make an end. 
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use ! 
As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life 

25 Were all too little, and of one to me 
Little remains : but every hour is saved 
From that eternal silence, something more, 
A bringer of new things ; and vile it were 
For some three suns to store and hoard myself, 

30 And this gray spirit yearning in desire 
To follow knowledge like a sinking star. 
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. 
This is my son, mine own Telemachus, 
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle — 

35 Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil 

This labour, by slow prudence to make mild 
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees 
Subdue them to the useful and the good. 
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere 

40 Of common duties, decent not to fail 
In offices of tenderness, and pay 
Meet adoration to my household gods. 
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. 
There lies the port ; the vessel puffs her sail : 

45 There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners. 
Souls that have toil'd and wrought, and thought 

with me — 
That ever with a frolic welcome took 



ALFRED TENNYSON 495 

The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed 
Free hearts, free foreheads — you and I are old; 

50 Old age hath yet his honour and his toil; 
Death closes all: but something ere the end. 
Some work of noble note, may yet be done, 
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. 
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks : 

55 The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the 
deep 
Moans round with many voices. Come, my 

friends, 
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 
Push off, and sitting well in order smite 
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds 

60 To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 
Of all the western stars, until I die. 
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: 
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 

65 Tho' much is taken, much abides ; and tho' 

We are not now that strength which in old days 
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we 

are; 
One equal temper of heroic hearts. 
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 

70 To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. 



THE EPIC 

(introduction to morte d'arthur) 
(From Poems, 1842) 

At Francis Allen's on the Christmas-eve, — 
The game of forfeits done — the girls all kiss'd 
Beneath the sacred bush and past away— 
The parson Holmes, the poet Everard Hall, 



496 VICTORIAN VERSE 

5 The host, and I sat round the wassail-bowl, 
Then half-way ebb'd: and there we held a talk, 
How all the old honour had from Christmas gone, 
Or gone or dwindled down to some old games 
In some odd nooks like this; till I, tired out 

10 With cutting eights that day upon the pond, 
Where, three times slipping from the outer edge, 
I bump'd the ice into three several stars, 
Fell in a doze; and half -awake I heard 
The parson taking wide and wider sweeps, 

15 Now harping on the church-commissioners, 
Now hawking at Geology and schism; 
Until I woke, and found him settled down 
Upon the general decay of faith 
Right thro' the world, ' at home was little left, 

20 And none abroad: there was no anchor, none. 
To hold by.' Francis, laughing, clapt his hand 
On Everard's shoulder, with ' I hold by him.' 

* And I,' quoth Everard, ' by the wassail-bowl.' 

* Why yes,' I said, ' we knew your gift that way 
25 At college: but another which you had, 

I mean of verse (for so we held it then), 

What came of that ? ' ' You know,' said Frank, 

^ he burnt 
His epic, his King Arthur, some twelve books ' — 
And then to me demanding why ? ' Oh, sir, 

30 He thought that nothing new was said, or else 
Something so said 'twas nothing — that a truth 
Looks freshest in the fashion of the day : 
God knows: he has a mint of reasons: ask. 
It pleased me well enough.' 'Nay, nay,' said 
Hall, 

35 ' Why take the style of those heroic times ? 
For nature brings not back the Mastodon, 
ISTor we those times ; and why should any man 
Remodel models? these twelve books of mine 
Were faint Homeric echoes, nothing-worth, 



ALFRED TENNYSON 497 

40 Mere chaff and draff, much better burnt.' 
' But I,' 
Said Francis, ' picl^'d the eleventh from this 

hearth 
And have it; keep a thing, its use will come. 
I hoard it as a sugar-plum for Holmes.' 
He laugh'd, and I, tho' sleepy, like a horse 

45 That hears the corn-bin open, prick'd my ears; 
For I remember'd Everard's college fame 
When we were Freshmen : then at my request 
He brought; and the poet little urged. 
But with some prelude of disparagement, 

50 Bead, mouthing out his hollow oes and aes, 
Deep-chested music, and to this result. 



MORTE D'ARTHUR 



So all day long the noise of battle roll'd 
Among the mountains by the winter sea ; 
Until King Arthur's table, man by man. 
Had fallen in Lyonesse about their Lord, 
5 King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep, 
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. 
Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, 
And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, 
A broken chancel with a broken cross, 

10 That stood on a dark strait of barren land. 
On one side lay the Ocean, and on one 
Lay a great water, and the moon was full. 
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: 
' The sequel of to-day unsolders all 

15 The goodliest fellowship of famous knights 
Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep 
They sleep — the men I loved. I think that we 



498 VICTORIAN VERSE 

Shall never more, at any future time, 
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, 

20 Walking about the gardens and the halls 
Of Camelot, as in the days that were. 
I perish by this people which I made, — 
Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again 
To rule once more — but let what will be, be, 

25 I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm 
That without help I cannot last till morn. 
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, 
Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how 
In those old days, one summer noon, an arm 

30 Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
Holding the sword — and how I row'd across 
And took it, and have worn it, like a king : 
And, wheresoever I am sung or told 

35 In after time, this also shall be known: 
But now delay not: take Excalibur, 
And fling him far into the middle mere : 
Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me 

word.' 
To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: 

40 ' It is not meet. Sir King, to leave thee thus, 
Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm. 
A little thing may harm a wounded man. 
Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. 
Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word.' 

45 So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept 
And in the moon athwart the place of tombs, 
Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. 
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang 
Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping 
down 

60 By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock. 
Came on the shining levels of the lake. 
There drew he forth the brand Excalibur, 



ALFRED TENNYSON 499 

And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, 
Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth 

55 And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: 
For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks, 
Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work 
Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long 
That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood, 

60 This way and that dividing the swift mind. 
In act to throw: but at the last it seem'd* 
Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd 
There in the many-knotted waterflags. 
That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. 

65 So strode he back slow to the wounded King. 
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: 
' Hast thou perf orm'd my mission which I gave ? 
What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast heard ? ' 
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 

TO ' I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, 
And the wild water lapping on the crags.' 

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale: 

* Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name, 
Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd 

75 Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight : 

For surer sign had follow'd, either hand, 
Or voice, or else a motion of the mere. 
This is a shameful thing for men to lie. 
Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again 

80 As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing 
I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word.' 

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time 
Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere. 
Counting the dewy pebbles, fix'd in thought; 

85 But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. 

How curiously and strangely chased, he smote 
His palms together, and he cried aloud, 

* And if indeed I cast the brand away. 
Surely a precious thing, one worthy note 



500 VICTOKIAN VERSE 

90 Should thus be lost forever from the earth, 

Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. 
What good should follow this, if this were done? 
What harm, undone? deep harm to disobey. 
Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. 
95 Were it well to obey then, if a king demand 
An act unprofitable, against himself? 
The King is sick, and knows not what he does. 
What record, or what relic of my lord 
Should be to aftertime, but empty breath 

100 And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept, 
Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, 
Some one might show it at a joust of arms, 
Saying, " King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, 
Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. 

105 Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps 
Upon the hidden bases of the hills." 
So might some old man speak in the aftertime 
To all the people, winning reverence. 
But now much honour and much fame were lost.' 

110 So spake he, clouded with his own conceit, 
And hid Excalibur the second time. 
And so strode back slow to the wounded king. 
Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily: 
^ What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast heard ? ' 

115 And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: 

* I heard the water lapping on the crag 
And the long ripple washing in the reeds.' 

To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath. : 

* Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, 

120 Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me! 
Authority forgets a dying king. 
Laid widow'd of the power in his eye 
That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art, 
For thou, the latest-left of all my knights, 

125 In whom should meet the offices of all, 

Thou would'st betray me for the precious hilt; 



4 



ALFRED TENNYSON 501 

Either from lust of gold, or like a girl 
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. 
Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, 
130 And the third time may prosper, get thee hence : 
But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, 
I will arise and slay thee with my hands.' 

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, 
And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged 
135 Among the bulrush-beds, and clutch'd the sword, 
And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great 

brand 
Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon, 
And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an 

arch. 
Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, 
140 Seen where the moving isles of winter shock 
By night, with noises of the northern sea. 
So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur: 
But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
145 And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him 
Three times, and drew him under in the mere. 
And lightly went the other to the King. 

Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker 
breath : 
^ Now see I by thy eyes that this is done. 
150 Speak out : what is it thou hast heard, or seen ? ' 
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
' Sir king, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems 
Should blind my purpose, for I never saw, 
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, 
155 Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men. 
So great a miracle as yonder hilt. 
Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling 

him; 
But when I look'd again, behold an arm. 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 



502 VICTORIAN VERSE 

160 That caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him 
Three times, and drew him under in the mere.' 
And answer made King Arthur, breathing 
hard : 
* My end draws nigh; 'tis time that I were gone. 
Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight, 

165 And bear me to the margin; yet I fear 

My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die.' 
So saying, from the pavement he half rose. 
Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm, 
And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes 

170 As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere 
Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears. 
And would have spoken, but he found not words. 
Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee. 
O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands, 

175 And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. 
But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard. 
Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed 
When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the king. 
Muttering and murmuring at his ear, * Quick, 
quick ! 

180 I fear it is too late, and I shall die.' 

But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge, 
Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd, 
Larger than human on the frozen hills. 
He heard the deep behind him, and a cry 

185 Before. His own thoughts drove him, like a goad. 
Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves 
And barren chasms, and all to left and right 
The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based 
His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang 

190 Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels — 
And on a sudden, lo! the level lake. 
And the long glories of the winter moon. 

Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, 
Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern. 



ALFRED TENNYSON 603 

195 Beneath them; and descending they were ware 
That all the decks were dense with stately forms 
Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream — by 

these 
Three Queens with crowns of gold — and from 

them rose 
A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars, 
200 And, as it were one voice an agony 

Of lamentation, like a wind, that shrills 
All night in a waste land, where no one comes. 
Or hath come, since the making of the world. 
Then murmur'd Arthur, 'Place me in the 
barge,' 
205 And to the barge they came. There those three 
Queens 
Put forth their hands, and took the king, and 

wept. 
But she, that rose the tallest of them all 
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, 
And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his 
hands, 
210 And call'd him by his name, complaining loud, 
And dropping bitter tears against his brow 
Striped with dark blood : for his face was white 
And colourless, and like the wither'd moon 
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ; 
215 And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops 
Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls — 
That made his forehead like a rising sun 
Pligh from the dais-throne — were parch'd with 

dust; 
Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, 
220 Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his 
lips. 
So like a shatter'd column lay the king; 
Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, 
From spur to plume a star of tournament. 



504 VICTOEIAN VERSE 

Shot thro* the lists at Caraelot, and charged 
225 Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. 

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere, 

'Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? 

Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? 

For now I see the true old times are dead, 
230 When every morning brought a noble chance. 

And every chance brought out a noble knight. 

Such times have been not since the light that led 

The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. 

But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved 
235 Which was an image of the mighty world; 

And I, the last, go forth companionless, 

And the days darken round me, and the years. 

Among new men, strange faces, other minds.' 
And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: 
240 ' The old order changeth, yielding place to new, 

And God fulfils Himself in many ways. 

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 

Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? 

I have lived my life, and that which I have done 
245 May He within Himself make pure ! but thou. 

If thou shouldst never see my face again, 

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by 
prayer 

Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy 
voice 

Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
250 For what are men better than sheep or goats 

That nourish a blind life within the brain. 

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 

Both for themselves and those who call them 
friend ? 

For so the whole round earth is every way 
255 Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. 

But now farewell. I am going a long way 

With these thou seest — if indeed I go — 



ALFRED TENNYSON 505 

(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) 
To the island valley of Avilion; 

260 Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 
Xor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies 
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns 
And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, 
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.' 

265 So said he, and the barge with oar and sail 

Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted 

swan 
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, 
Euflles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood 
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere 

270 Kevolving many memories, till the hull 

Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn. 
And on the mere the wailing died away. 

Here ended Hall, and our last light, that long 
Had wink'd and threaten'd darkness, flared and 
fell : 

275 At which the Parson, sent to sleep with sound. 
And waked with silence, grunted ' Good ! ' but we 
Sat rapt : it was the tone with which he read — 
Perhaps some modern touches here and there 
Kedeem'd it from the charge of nothingness — 

280 Or else we loved the man, and prized his work ; 
I know not: but we sitting, as I said. 
The cock crew loud; as at that time of year 
The lusty bird takes every hour for dawn : 
Then Francis, muttering, like a man ill-used, 

285 ' There now— that's nothing ! ' drew a little back. 
And drove his heel into the smoulder'd log. 
That sent a blast of sparkles up the flue : 
And so to bed; where yet in sleep I seem'd 
To sail with Arthur under looming shpres, 

290 Point after point ; till on to dawn, when dreams, 
Began to feel the truth and stir of day. 



506 VICTORIAN VERSE 

To me, methought, who waited with a crowd, 
There came a bark that, blowing forward, bore 
King Arthur, like a modern gentleman 

295 Of stateliest port; and all the people cried, 
* Arthur is come again; he cannot die.' 
Then those that stood upon the hills behind 
Repeated — 'Come again, and thrice as fair;' 
And, further inland, voices echoed — ' Come 

300 With all good things, and war shall be no more.' 
At this a hundred bells began to peal. 
That with the sound I woke, and heard indeed 
The clear church-bells ring in the Christmas- 



SIR GALAHAD 

(From the same) 

My good blade carves the casques of men, 

My tough lance thrusteth sure. 
My strength is as the strength of ten. 

Because my heart is pure. 
5 The shattering trumpet shrilleth high. 

The hard brands shiver on the steel. 
The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly. 

The horse and rider reel : 
They reel, they roll in clanging lists, 
10 And when the tide of combat stands. 
Perfume and flowers fall in showers. 

That lightly rain from ladies' hands. 

How sweet are looks that ladies bend 
On whom their favours fall! 
15 For them I battle till the end. 

To save from shame and thrall: 



ALFKED TENNYSON 507 

But all my heart is drawn above, 

My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine; 

I never felt the kiss of love, 
20 ISTor maiden's hand in mine. 

More bounteous aspects on me beam. 
Me mightier transports move and thrill ; 

So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer 
A virgin heart in work and will. 

25 When down the stormy crescent goes, 
A light before me swims, 
Between dark stems the forest glows, 

I hear a noise of hymns: 
Then by some secret shrine I ride; 
30 I hear a voice but none are there; 
The stalls are void, the doors are wide, 

The tapers burning fair. 
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth. 
The silver vessels sparkle clean, 
35 The shrill bell rings, the censer swings. 
And solemn chaunts resound between. 

Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres 

I find a magic bark; 
I leap on board : no helmsman steers : 
40 I float till all is dark. 

A gentle sound, an aM'ful light! 

Three angels bear the holy Grail: 
With folded feet, in stoles of white. 

On sleeping wings they sail. 
45 Oh, blessed vision ! blood of God ! 

My spirit beats her mortal bars. 
As down dark tides the glory slides. 

And star-like mingles with the stars. 

When on my goodly charger borne 
50 Thro' dreaming towns I go. 



508 VICTORIAN VERSE 

The cock crows ere the Christmas morn. 

The streets are dumb with snow. 
The tempest crackles on the leads. 

And, ringing, springs from brand and mail ; 
65 But o'er the dark a glory spreads. 

And gilds the driving hail. 
I leave the plain, I climb the height; 

N'o branchy thicket shelter yields; 
But blessed forms in whistling storms 
60 Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. 

A maiden knight — to me is given 

Such hope, I know not fear; 
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven 

That often meet me here. 
65 I muse on joy that will not cease. 

Pure spaces clothed in living beams. 
Pure lilies of eternal peace. 

Whose odours haunt my dreams; 
And, stricken by an angel's hand, 
70 This mortal armour that I wear. 

This weight and size, this heart and eyes, 

Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air. 

The clouds are broken in the sky, 

And thro' the mountain-walls 
75 A rolling organ-harmony 

Swells up, and shakes and falls. 
Then move the trees, the copses nod, 

Wings flutter, voices hover clear: 
^ O just and faithful knight of God ! 
80 Ride on! the prize is near.' 

So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; 

By bridge and ford, by park and pale, 
All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide 

Until I find the holy Grail. 



ALFRED TENNYSON 509 

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK 
(From the same) 

Break, break, break. 

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 
The thoughts that arise in me. 

5 O well for the fisherman's boy. 

That he shouts with his sister at play ! 
O well for the sailor lad. 

That he sings in his boat on the bay! 

And the stately ships go on 
10 To their haven under the hill; 

But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand 
And the sound of a voice that is still ! 

Break, break, break. 

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! 
15 But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
Will never come back to me. 

TEARS, IDLE TEARS 

(Song from The Princess, edition 1850) 

* Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean. 
Tears from the depth of some divine despair 
Eise in the heart, and gather to the eyes. 
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, 
5 And thinking of the days that are no more. 

' Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail. 
That brings our friends up from the underworld, 



510 VICTOKIAN VERSE 

Sad as the last which reddens over one 
That sinks with all we love below the verge; 
10 So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 

' Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns 
The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds 
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes 
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square ; 
15 So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. 

' Dear as remembered kisses after death, 
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd 
On lips that are for others; deep as love. 
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; 
20 O Death in Life, the days that are no more.' 



BUGLE SONG 
(From the same) 

The splendour falls on castle walls 
And snowy summits old in story: 
The long light shakes across the lakes. 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
5 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear. 

And thinner, clearer, farther going! 
O sweet and far from cliff and scar 
10 The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! 

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O love, they die in yon rich sky, 
They faint on hill or field or river : 



ALFBED TENNYSON 511 

15 Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 
And grow forever and forever. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 

IN MEMORIAM 

(From In Memoriam, 1850) 

Strong Son of God, immortal Love, 
Whom we, that have not seen thy face. 
By faith, and faith alone, embrace. 

Believing where we cannot prove; 

5 Thine are these orbs of light and shade ; 
Thou madest Life in man and brute; 
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot 
Is on the skull which thou hast made. 

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust : 
10 Thou madest man, he knows not why. 
He thinks he was not made to die; 
And thou hast made him : thou art just. 

Thou seemest human and divine. 
The highest, holiest manhood, thou : 
15 Our wills are ours, we know not how; 
Our wills are ours, to make them thine. 

Our little systems have their day; 
They have their day and cease to be : 
They are but broken lights of thee, 
20 And thou, O Lord, art more than they. 

We have but faith: we cannot know; 

For knowledge is of things we see; 

And yet we trust it comes from thee, 
A beam in darkness : let it grow. 



512 VICTORIAN VERSE 

25 Let knowledge grow from more to more, 
But more of reverence in us dwell; 
That mind and soul, according well. 
May make one music as before, 

But vaster. We are fools and slight; 
30 We mock thee when we do not fear : 
But help thy foolish ones to bear; 
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. 

Forgive what seem'd my sin in me; 
What seem'd my worth since I began; 
35 For merit lives from man to man. 
And not from man, O Lord, to thee. 

Forgive my grief for one removed. 
Thy creature, whom I found so fair. 
I trust he lives in thee, and there 
40 I find him worthier to be loved. 

Forgive these wild and wandering cries, 
Confusions of a wasted youth; 
Forgive them where they fail in truth, 

And in thy wisdom make me wise. 

MAUD 
(From Maud, 1855) 

XVIII. 
I. 

I have led her home, my love, my only friend. 
There is none like her, none. 
And never yet so warmly ran my blood 
And sweetly, on and on 
5 Calming itself to the long-wish'd-for end, 
!Eull to the banks, close on the promised good. 



ALFRED TENNYSON 513 

II. 

!N'one like her, none. 

Just now the dry-tongued laurels' pattering talk 
Seem'd her light foot along the garden walk, 
10 And shook my heart to think she comes once 
more; 
But even then I heard her close the door, 
The gates of Heaven are closed, and she is gone. 

III. 

There is none like her, none. 

Nor will be when our summers have deceased. 
15 O, art thou sighing for Lebanon 

In the long breeze that streams to thy delicious 
East, 

Sighing for Lebanon, 

Dark cedar, tho' thy limbs have here increased, 

Upon a pastoral slope as fair, 
20 And looking to the South, and fed 

With honey'd rain and delicate air, 

And haunted by the starry head 

Of her whose gentle will has changed my fate, 

And made my life a perfumed altar-flame; 
25 And over whom thy darkness must have spread 

With such delight as theirs of old, thy great 

Forefathers of the thornless garden, there 

Shadowing the snow-limb'd Eve from whom she 
came. 

IV. 

Here will I lie, while these long branches sway, 
30 And yon fair stars that crown a happy day 
Go in and out as if at merry play. 
Who am no more so all forlorn, 
As when it seem'd far better to be born 



514 VICTOKIAN VERSE 

To labour and the mattock-harden'd hand, 
35 Than nursed at ease and brought to understand 
A sad astrology, the boundless plan 
That makes you tyrants in your iron skies. 
Innumerable, pitiless, passionless eyes, 
Cold fires, yet with power to burn and brand 
40 His nothingness into man. 

V. 

But now shine on, and what care I, 
Who in this stormy gulf have found a pearl 
The countercharm of space and hollow sky, 
And do accept my madness, and would die 
45 To save from some slight shame one simple girl. 

VI. 

Would die; for sullen-seeming Death may give 
More life to Love than is or ever was 
In our low world, where yet 'tis sweet to live. 
Let no one ask me how it came to pass; 
50 It seems that I am happy, that to me 
A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass, 
A purer sapphire melts into the sea. 

VII. 

Not die ; but live a life of truest breath. 

And teach true life to fight with mortal wrongs. 

55 O why should Love, like men in drinking-songs. 
Spice his fair banquet with the dust of death? 
Make answer, Maud my bliss, 
Maud made my Maud by that long loving kiss. 
Life of my life, wilt thou not answer this? 

60 * The dusky strand of Death inwoven here 

With dear Love's tie, makes Love himself more 
dear.' 



ALFRED TENNYSON 515 



VIII. 



Is that enchanted moan only the swell 
Of the long waves that roll in yonder bay? 
And hark the clock within, the silver knell 

65 Of twelve sweet hours that past in bridal white, 
And died to live, long as my pulses play; 
But now by this my love has closed her sight 
And given false death her hand, and stol'n away 
To dreamful wastes where footless fancies dwell 

70 Among the fragments of the golden day. 
May nothing there her maiden grace affright ! 
Dear heart, I feel with thee the drowsy spell. 
My bride to be, my evermore delight. 
My own heart's heart, my ownest own, farewell; 

75 It is but for a little space I go : 

And ye meanwhile far over moor and fell 
Beat to the noiseless music of the night! 
Has our whole earth gone nearer to the glow 
Of your soft splendours that you look so bright? 

80 I have climbed nearer out of lonely Hell. 
Beat, happy stars, timing with things below, 
Beat with my heart more blest than heart can tell, 
Blest, but for some dark undercurrent woe 
That seems to draw — but it shall not be so ; 

85 Let all be well, be well. 



CROSSING THE BAR 

(1889) 

Sunset and evening star. 

And one clear call for me! 
And may there be no moaning of the bar, 

When I put out to sea, 



616 VICTORIAN VERSE 

5 But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
Too full for sound and foam, 
When that which drew from out the boundless 
deep 
Turns again home. 

Twilight and evening bell, 
10 And after that the dark! 

And may there be no sadness of farewell, 
When I embark; 

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place 
The flood may bear me far, 
15 I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
When I have crost the bar. 



IRobert BrowntriG 

1812-1889 
MY LAST DUCHESS 

FERRARA 

(First published, 1836) 

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall. 
Looking as if she were alive. I call 
That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf's hands 
Worked busily a day, and there she stands. 
5 Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said 
" Fra Pandolf " by design, for never read 
Strangers like you that pictured countenance, 
The depth and passion of its earnest glance. 
But to myself they turned (since none puts by 
10 The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) 

And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, 
How such a glance came there ; so, not the first 



ROBERT BROWNING 517 

Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not 
Her husband's presence only, called that spot 

15 Of joy into the Duchess' cheek : perhaps 

Fra Pandolf chanced to say " Her mantle laps 
Over my lady's wrist too much," or " Paint 
Must never hope to reproduce the faint 
Half -flush that dies along her throat : " such stuff 

20 Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough 
For calling up that spot of joy. She had 
A heart — how shall I say? — too soon made glad, 
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er 
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. 

25 Sir, 'twas all one ! My favor at her breast. 
The dropping of the daylight in the West, 
The bough of cherries some officious fool 
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule 
She rode with round the terrace — all and each 

30 Would draw from her alike the approving speech, 
Or blush, at least. She thanked men, — good ! but 

thanked 
Somehow — I know not how — as if she ranked 
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name 
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame 

35 This sort of trifling? Even had you skill 

In speech — (which I have not) — to make your will 
Quite clear to such an one, and say, " Just this 
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, 
Or there exceed the mark " — and if she let 

40 Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 

Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, 
— E'en then would be some stooping ; and I choose 
Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt. 
Whene'er I passed her ; but who passed without 

45 Much the same smile? This grew; I gave com- 
mands ; 
Then all smiles stopped together. There she 
stands 



618 VICTORIAN VERSE 

As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet 

The company below, then. I repeat 

The Count your master's known munificence 

50 Is ample warrant that no just pretense 
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; 
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed 
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go 
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, 

65 Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity. 

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for 
me! 



SONG 

(From Pippa Passes, 1841) 

The year 's at the spring 
The day 's at the morn ; 
Morning 's at seven; 
The hillside 's dew-pearled; 
5 The lark 's on the wing; 
The snail 's on the thorn : 
God 's in his heaven — 
All 's right with the world! 

HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD 

(From Bells and Pomegranates No. VII. , 1845) 



Oh, to be in England now that April's there. 
And whoever wakes in England sees, some morn- 
ing, unaware, 
That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf 
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. 
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough 
In England — now! 



ROBERT BROWNING 519 

II. 

And after April, when May follows, 

And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows ! 

Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge 
10 Leans to the field and scatters on the clover 

Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent spray's 
edge — 

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice 
over 

Lest you should think he never could recapture 

The first fine careless rapture ! 
15 And though the fields look rough with hoary dew. 

Or will be gay when noontide wakes anew 

The buttercups, the little children's dower 

— Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! 



THE GU ARDIAN- ANGEL : 

A PICTURE AT FANO 

(From Men and Women, 1855) 

I. 

Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave 
That child, when thou hast done with him, 
for me ! 
Let me sit all the day here, that when eve 
Shall find performed thy special ministry, 
5 And time come for departure, thou, suspending 
Thy flight, may'st see another child for tending. 
Another still, to quiet and retrieve. 

11. 

Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more, 
From where thou stand'st now, to where I gaze, 
10 And suddenly my head be covered o'er 



520 VICTORIAN VERSE 

With those wings, white above the child who 
prays 
Now on that tomb — and I shall feel thee guard- 
ing 
Me, out of all the world; for me, discarding 
Yon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its 
door ! 



III. 

15 I would not look up thither past thy head 

Because the door opes, like that child, I know. 
For I should have thy gracious face instead. 
Thou bird of God! And wilt thou bend me 
low 
Like him, and lay, like his, my hands together, 
20 And lift them up to pray, and gently tether 

Me as thy lamb there, with thy garment's 
spread ? 

IV. 

If this was ever granted, I would rest 

My head beneath thine, while thy healing 
hands 
Close-covered both my eyes beside thy breast, 
25 Pressing the brain which too much thought ex- 
pands 
Back to its proper size again, and smoothing 
Distortion down till every nerve had soothing, 
And all lay quiet, happy and supprest. 

V. 

How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired! 
30 I think how I should view the earth and skies 
And sea, when once again my brow was bared 
After thy healing, with such different eyes. 



I 



ROBERT BROWNING 521 

O world, as God has made it! all is beauty; 

And knowing this, is love, and love is duty. 

35 What further may be sought for or declared? 



ANDREA DEL SARTO 

CALLED "THE FAULTLESS PAINTER" 

(From Men and Women, 1855) 

But do not let us quarrel any more, 
No, my Lucrezia ; bear with me for once : 
Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. 
You turn your face, but does it bring your heart ? 
5 I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear. 
Treat his own subject after his own way, 
Fix his own time, accept too his own price. 
And shut the money into this small hand 
When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly? 
10 Oh, I'll content him,— but to-morrow. Love ! 
I often am much wearier than you think. 
This evening more than usual, and it seems 
j^s if — forgive now — should you let me sit 
Here by the window with your hand in mine 
15 And look a half hour forth on Fiesole, 
Both of one mind, as married people use. 
Quietly, quietly the evening through, 
I might get up to-morrow to my work 
Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try. ^ 
20 To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this ! 
Your soft hand is a woman of itself, 
And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. 
Don't count the time lost, neither; you must 

serve 
For each of the five pictures we require : 



522 VICTOBIAN VERSE 

25 It saves a model. So ! keep looking so — 
My serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds! 
— How could you ever prick those perfect ears, 
Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweet — 
My face, my moon, my everybody's moon, 

30 Which everybody looks on and calls his, 
And, I suppose, is looked on by in turn. 
While she looks — no one's: very dear, no less. 
You smile? why, there's my picture ready made, 
There's what we painters call our harmony! 

35 A common grayness silvers every thing, — 
All in a twilight, you and I alike 
— You, at the point of your first pride in me 
(That's gone, you know), — but I, at every point; 
My youth, my hope, my art, being all toned down 

40 To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. 

There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top; 
That length of convent-wall across the way 
Holds the trees safer, huddled more inside; 
The last monk leaves the garden ; days decrease, 

45 And autumn grows, autumn in every thing. 
Eh ? the whole seems to fall into a shape 
As if I saw alike my work and self 
And all that I was born to be and do, 
A twilight-piece. Love, we are in God's hand. 

50 How strange now looks the life he makes us lead ; 
So free we seem, so fettered fast we are ! 
I feel he laid the fetter: let it lie! 
This chamber for example — turn your head — 
All that's behind us! You don't understand 

55 Nor care to understand about my art. 

But you can hear at least when people speak : 
And that cartoon, the second from the door 
— It is the thing, Love ! so such things should 

be— 
Behold Madonna! — I am bold to say. 

60 I can do with my pencil what I know. 



ROBERT BROWNING 523 

What I see, what at bottom of my heart 
I wish for, if I ever wish so deep- 
Do easily, to6— when I say, perfectly, 
I do not boast, perhaps : yourself are judge 
65 Who listened to the Legate's talk last week, 
And just as much they used to say in France. 
At any rate 'tis easy, all of it I 
No sketches first, no studies, that's long past : 
I do what many dream of all their lives. 
70 — Dream ? strive to do, and agonize to do. 

And fail in doing. I could county twenty such 
On twice your fingers, and not leave this town, 
Who strive — you don't know how the others strive 
To paint a little thing like that you smeared 
75 Carelessly passing with your robes afloat, — 
Yet do much less, so much less, Someone says, 
(I know his name, no matter)— so much less! 
Well, less is more, Lucrezia : I am judged. 
There burns a truer light of God in them, 
80 In their vexed beating stuffed and stopped-up 
brain. 
Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt 
This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of 

mine. 
Their works drop groundward, but themselves, I 

know, 
Eeach many a time a heaven that's shut to me, 
85 Enter and take their place there sure enough. 
Though they come back and cannot tell the world. 
My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here. 
The sudden blood of these men ! at a word- 
Praise them, it boils, or blame them, it boils too. 
90 I, painting from myself and to myself, 

Know what I do, am unmoved by men's blame 
Or their praise either. Somebody remarks 
Morello's outline there is wrongly traced. 
His hue mistaken; what of that? or else. 



524 VICTORIAN VERSE 

95 Rightly traced and well ordered ; what of that ? 
Speak as they please, what does the mountain 

care? 
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. 
Or what's a heaven for ? All is silver-gray. 
Placid and perfect with my art : the worse ! 

100 I know both what I want and what might gain; 
And yet how profitless to know, to sigh 
" Had I been two, another and myself. 
Our head would have o'erlooked the world — " No 

doubt. 
Yonder's a work now, of that famous youth 

105 The Urbinate who died five years ago. 
('Tis copied, George Vasari sent it me.) 
Well, I can fancy how he did it all, 
Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see. 
Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him, 

110 Above and through his art — for it gives way; 
That arm is vn*ongly put — and there again — 
A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines. 
Its body, so to speak : its soul is right, 
He means right — that, a child may understand. 

115 Still, what an arm ! and I could alter it : 

But all the play, the insight and the stretch — 
Out of me, out of me ! And wherefore out ? 
Had you enjoined them on me, given me soul, 
We might have risen to Rafael, I and you ! 

120 Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, I think — 
More than I merit, yes, by many times. 
But had you — oh, with the same perfect brow. 
And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth, 
And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird 

125 The fowler's pipe, and follows to the snare — 
Had you, with these the same, but brought a 

mind ! 
Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged, 
" God and the glory ! never care for gain. 



ROBERT BROWNING 525 

The present by the future, what is that? 

130 Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo ! 
Eaf ael is waiting : up to God, all three ! " 
I might have done it for you. So it seems : 
Perhaps not. All is as God overrules. 
Beside, incentives come from the soul's self: 

135 The rest avail not. Why do I need you? 
What wife had Eaf ael, or has Agnolo? 
In this world, who can do a thing, will not ; 
And who would do it, cannot, I perceive : 
Yet the will's somewhat — somewhat, too, the 
power — 

140 And thus we half -men struggle. At the end, 
God, I conclude, compensates, punishes. 
'Tis safer for me, if the award be strict, 
That I am something underrated here. 
Poor this long while, despised, to speak the truth. 

145 I dared not, do you know, leave home all day. 
For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. 
The best is when they pass and look aside ; 
But they speak sometimes ; I must bear it all. 
Well may they speak! That Francis, that first 
time, 

150 And that long festal year at Fontainebleau ! 

I surely then could sometimes leave the ground. 
Put on the glory, Kafael's daily wear, 
In that humane great monarch's golden look,— 
One finger in his beard or twisted curl 

155 Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile. 
One arm about my shoulder, round my neck. 
The jingle of his gold chain in my ear, 
I painting proudly with his breath on me. 
All his court round him, seeing with his eyes, 

160 Such frank French eyes, and such a fire of souls 
Profuse, my hand kept plying by those hearts, — 
And, best of all, this, this, this face beyond. 
This in the background, waiting on my work, 



526 VICTOKIAN VERSE 

To crown the issue with a last reward! 

165 A good time, was it not, my kingly days? 

And had you not grown restless . . . but I 

know — 
'Tis done and past; 'twas right, my instinct said; 
Too live the life grew, golden and not gray, 
And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt 

170 Out of the grange whose four walls make his 
world. 
How could it end in any other way? 
You called me, and I came home to your heart. 
The triumph was, to have ended there; then, if 
I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost? 

175 Let my hands frame your face in your hair's 
gold, 
You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine ! 
"Rafael did this, Andrea painted that; 
The Roman's is the better when you pray. 
But still the other's Virgin was his wife" — 

180 Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge 

Both pictures in your presence; clearer grows 
My better fortune, I resolve to think. 
For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives. 
Said one day Agnolo, his very self, 

185 To Rafael ... I have known it all these 
years . . . 
(When the young man was flaming out his 

thoughts 
Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see. 
Too lifted up in heart because of it) 
" Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub 

190 Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how. 
Who, were he set to plan and execute 
As you are, pricked on by your popes and kings. 
Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours ! " 
To Rafael's! — And indeed the arm is wrong. 

195 I hardly dare . . . yet, only you to see, 



ROBERT BROWNING 627 

Give the chalk here— quick, thus the line should 
go! 

Ay, but the soul ! he's Kaf ael ! rub it out ! 

Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth, 
(What he? why, who but Michel Agnolo? 
200 Do you forget already words like those?) 

If really there was such a chance, so lost, — 

Is, whether you're— not grateful— but mo v 
pleased. 

Well, let me think so. And you smile indeed ! 

This hour has been an hour ! Another smile ? 
205 If you would sit thus by me every night 

I should work better, do you comprehend ? 

I mean that I should earn more, give you more. 

See, it is settled dusk now ; there's a star ; 

Morello's gone, the watch-lights show the wall, 
210 The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. 

Come from the window, Love, — come in, at last, 

Inside the melancholy little house 

We built to be so gay with. God is just. 

King Francis may forgive me : oft at nights 
215 When I look up from painting, eyes tired out, 

The walls become illumined, brick by brick 

Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce bright gold. 

That gold of his I did cement them with ! 

Let us but love each other. Must you go? 
220 That Cousin here again? he waits outside? 

Must see you — you, and not with me? Those 
loans ? 

More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? 

Well, let smiles buy me ! have you more to spend ? 

While hand and eye and something of a heart 
225 Are left me, work's my ware, and what's it worth ? 

I'll pay my fancy. Only let me sit 

The gray remainder of the evening out. 

Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly 

How I could paint, were I but back in France, 



528 VICTORIAN VERSE 

230 One picture, just one more — ^the Virgin's face, 
Not yours this time ! I want you at my side 
To hear them — that is, Michel Agnolo — 
Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. 
Will you? To-morrow, satisfy your friend. 

235 I take the subjects for his corridor. 

Finish the portrait out of hand — there, there, 
And throw him in another thing or two 
If he demurs; the whole should prove enough 
To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Beside, 

240 What's better and what's all I care about. 
Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff! 
Love, does that please you? Ah, but what does 

he. 
The Cousin ! what does he to please you more ? 

I am grown peaceful as old age to-night. 
245 I regret little, I would change still less. 
Since there my past life lies, why alter it? 
The very wrong to Francis! — it is true 
I took his coin, was tempted and complied, 
And built this house and sinned, and all is said. 
250 My father and my mother died of want. 
Well, had I riches of my own? you see 
How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. 
They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they 

died: 
And I have labored somewhat in my time 
255 And not been paid profusely. Some good son 
Paint my two hundred pictures — let him try! 
No doubt, there's something strikes a balance. 

Yes, 
You love me quite enough, it seems to-night. 
This must suffice me here. What would one 
have? 
260 In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more 
chance — 



ROBERT BROWNING 529 

Four great walls in the New Jerusalem 
Meted on each side by the angel's reed, 
For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo and me 
To cover — the three first without a wife, 
265 While I have mine! So — still they overcome 
Because there's still Lucrezia, — as I choose. 

Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love. 



PROSPICE 

(From Dramatis Persoim, 1864) 

Fear death ? — to feel the fog in my throat, 

The mist in my face, 
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote 
I am nearing the place, 
5 The power of the night, the press of the storm. 
The post of the foe ; 
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, 

Yet the strong man must go; 
For the journey is done and the summit attained, 
10 And the barriers fall, 

Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be 
gained. 
The reward of it all. 
I was ever a fighter, so — one fight more. 
The best and the last! 
15 I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and 
forebore. 
And bade me creep past. 

^No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my 
peers, 
The heroes of old. 
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears 
20 Of pain, darkness and cold. 



630 VICTOEIAN VERSE 

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave. 

The black minute's at end, 
And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave. 
Shall dwindle, shall blend, 
25 Shall change, shall become first a peace out of 
pain, 
Then a light, then thy breast, 
O thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee again, 
And with God be the rest ! 



RABBI BEN EZRA 

(From the same) 



Grow old along with me! 
The best is yet to be, 

The last of life, for which the first was made : 
Our times are in His hand 
6 Who saith, " A whole I planned. 

Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor bs 
afraid!" 

II. 

Not that, amassing flowers. 
Youth sighed, "Which rose make ours, 
Which lily leave and then as best recall ? " 
10 ISTot that, admiring stars. 

It yearned, "Nor Jove, nor Mars; 
Mine be some figured flame which blends, trans- 
scends them all ! " 



III. 



Not for such hopes and fears 
Annulling youth's brief years, 



ROBERT BROWNING 631 

15 Do I remonstrate; folly wide the mark I 
Rather I prize the doubt 
Low kinds exist without. 
Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. 

IV. 

Poor vaunt of life indeed, 
20 Were man but formed to feed 

On joy, to solely seek and find and feast; 
Such feasting ended, then 
As sure an end to men; 

Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the 
maw-crammed beast ? 

V. 

25 Rejoice we are allied 

To That which doth provide 

And not partake, effect and not receive! 

A spark disturbs our clod; 

Nearer we hold of God 
30 Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must 
believe. 

VI. 

Then, welcome each rebuff 
That turns earth's smoothness rough. 
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go I 
Be our joys three-parts pain ! 
35 Strive, and hold cheap the strain; 

Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge 
the throe! 



VII. 



For thence, — a paradox 

Which comforts while it mocks,- 



532 VICTOEIAN VERSE 

Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail : 
40 What I aspired to be, 

And was not, comforts me: 

A brute I might have been, but would not sink 
i' the scale. 

VIII. 

What is he but a brute 
Whose flesh hath soul to suit, 
45 Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? 
To man, propose this test — 
Thy body at its best. 

How far can that project thy soul on its lone 
way? 

IX. 

Yet gifts should prove their use : 
50 I own the Past profuse 

Of power each side, perfection every turn : 
Eyes, ears took in their dole. 
Brain treasured up the whole; 
Should not the heart beat once " How good to 
live and learn ? " 



55 Not once beat " Praise be Thine ! 

I see the whole design, 

I, who saw Power, see now Love perfect too: 

Perfect I call Thy plan: 

Thanks that I was a man! 
60 Maker, remake complete, — I trust what Thou 
Shalt do!" 

XI. 



For pleasant is this flesh; 
Our soul, in its rose-mesh 



ROBERT BROWNING 533 

Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest: 
Would we some prize might hold 
65 To match those manifold 

Possessions of the brute —gain most, as we did 
best! 

XTI. 

Let us not always say, 
" Spite of this flesh to-day 

I strove, made head, gained ground upon the 
whole!" 
70 As the bird wings and sings, 
Let us cry " All good things 
Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than 
flesh helps soul ! " 

XIII. 

Therefore I summon age 
To grant youth's heritage, 
75 Life's struggle having so far reached its term: 
Thence shall I pass, approved 
A man, for aye removed ^ , , i • .i. 

From the developed brute; a God though m the 
germ. 

XIV. 

And I shall thereupon 
80 Take rest, ere I be gone 

Once more on my adventure brave and new: 
Fearless and unperplexed, 
When I wage battle next, ^ 

What weapons to select, what armor to mduo. 

XV. 

85 Youth ended, I shall try 
My gain or loss thereby; 



534 VICTORIAN VERSE 

Leave the fire-ashes, what survives is gold : 
And I shall weigh the same, 
Give life its praise or blame : 
90 Young, all lay in dispute ; I shall know, being old. 

XVI. 

For note, when evening shuts, 
A certain moment cuts 
The deed off, calls the glory from the gray : 
A whisper from the west 
95 Shoots— "Add this to the rest. 

Take it and try its worth : here dies another day." 

XVII. 

So, still within this life. 
Though lifted o'er its strife. 
Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, 
100 " This rage was right i' the main. 
That acquiescence vain: 

The Future I may face now I have proved the 
Past." 

XVIII. 

For more is not reserved 
To man with soul just nerved 
105 To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: 
Here, work enough to watch 
The Master work, and catch 

Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true 
play. 

XIX. 

As it was better, youth 
110 Should strive, through acts uncouth. 

Toward making, than repose on aught found 
made ! 



ROBERT BROWNING 535 

So, better, age, exempt 
From strife, should know, than tempt 
Further. Thou waitedst age : wait death, nor be 
afraid ! 

XX. 

115 Enough now, if the Right 
And Good and Infinite 
Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine 

own. 
With knowledge absolute. 
Subject to no dispute 
120 From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel 
alone. 

XXI. 

Be there, for once and all. 
Severed great minds from small. 
Announced to each his station in the Past! 
Was I, the world arraigned, 
125 Were they, my soul disdained. 

Right? Let age speak the truth and give us 
peace at last! 

XXII. 

Now, who shall arbitrate? 
Ten men love what I hate, 
Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; 
130 Ten, who in ears and eyes 
Match me : we all surmise. 

They, this thing, and I, that : whom shall my soul 
believe ? 

XXIII. 

Not on the vulgar mass 

Called "work," must sentence pass, 



536 tlCTORIAN VERSE 

135 Things done, that took the eye and had the price ; 
O'er which, from level stand. 
The low world laid its hand. 
Found straightway to its mind, could value in 
a trice: 

XXIY. 

But all, the world's coarse thumb 
140 And finger failed to plumb, 

So passed in making up the main account ; 
All instincts immature. 
All purposes unsure. 

That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the 
man's amount: 



XXV. 

145 Thoughts hardly to be packed 
Into a narrow act. 

Fancies that broke through language and es- 
caped ; 
All I could never be. 
All, men ignored in me, 
150 This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher 
shaped. 

XXVI. 

Ay, note that Potter's wheel. 
That metaphor ! and feel 

Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay, — 
Thou, to whom fools propound, 
155 When the wine makes its round, 

" Since life fleets, all is change ; the Past gone, 
seize to-day ! " 



ROBERT BROWNING 537 

XXVII. 

Fool ! All that is, at all, 
Lasts ever, past recall; 

Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure; 
160 What entered into thee. 
That was, is, and shall be: 

Time's wheel runs back or stops : Potter and clay 
endure. 

XXVIII. 

He fixed thee mid this dance 
Of plastic circumstance, 
165 This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest : 
Machinery just meant 
To give thy soul its bent. 

Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently im- 
pressed. 

XXIX. 

What though the earlier grooves, 
170 Which ran the laughing loves, 

Around thy base, no longer pause and press? 

What though, about thy rim. 

Skull-things in order grim 

Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress ? 

XXX. 

175 Look not thou down but up ! 

To uses of a cup. 

The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal, 

The new wine's foaming flow. 

The Master's lips aglow! 
180 Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst 
thou with earth's wheel? 



538 VICTOEIAN VERSE 



XXXI. 



But I need, now as then. 
Thee, God, who moldest men; 
And since, not even while the whirl was worst, 
Did I — to the wheel of life 
185 With shapes and colors rife. 

Bound dizzily — mistake my end, to slake Thy 
thirst : 

XXXII. 

So, take and use Thy work: 
Amend what flaws may lurk. 
What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the 
aim! 
190 My times be in Thy hand! 
Perfect the cup as planned ! 

Let age approve of youth, and death complete the 
same! 



EPILOGUE 
(From Asolando, 1890) 

At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time. 

When you set your fancies free. 
Will they pass to where — by death, fools think, 

imprisoned — 
Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you 
loved so, 
5 —Pity me? 

Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken ! 

What had I on earth to do 
With the slothful, with the mawkish, the un- 
manly ? 
Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless did I drivel 
10 — Being — ^who ? 



ELIZABETH BAERETT BROWNING 539 

One who never turned his back but marched 
breast forward, 
Never doubted clouds would break, 
JSTever dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong 

would triumph. 
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, 
15 Sleep to wake. 

No, at noonday in the bustle of man's work-time 

Greet the unseen with a cheer! 
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should 

be, 
" Strive and thrive ! " cry " Speed, — fight on, fare 
ever 
20 There as here!" 



Bltsabetb Barrett JBjowntno 

1809-1861 

A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT 

(From Poems, 1844) 



What was he doing, the great god Pan, 

Down in the reeds by the river? 
Spreading ruin and scattering ban. 
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, 
5 And breaking the golden lilies afloat 
With the dragon-fly on the river. 

II. 

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, 
From the deep cool bed of the river : 



540 VICTORIAN VERSE 

The limpid water turbidly ran, 
10 And the broken lilies a-dying lay, 
And the dragon-fly had fled away, 
Ere he brought it out of the river. 

III. 

High on the shore sat the great god Pan, 
While turbidly flowed the river; 
15 And hacked and hewed as a great god can. 
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, 
Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed 
To prove it fresh from the river. 

IV. 

He cut it short, did the great god Pan 
20 (How tall it stood in the river!). 

Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, 
Steadily from the outside ring. 
And notched the poor dry empty thing 
In holes, as he sat by the river. 



25 " This is the way," laughed the great god Pan 
(Laughed while he sat by the river), 
" The only way, since gods began 
To make sweet music, they could succeed." 
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, 

30 He blew in power by the river. 

VI. 

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! 

Piercing sweet by the river! 
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! 
The sun on the hill forgot to die, 
35 And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 

Came back to dream on the river. 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 541 

VII. 

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, 

To laugh as he sits by the river, 
Making a poet out of a man: 
40 The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, — 
For the reed which grows nevermore again 

As a reed with the reeds in the river. 



80NWETS 

CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY REASON 

I think we are too ready with complaint 
In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope 
Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope 
Of yon grey blank of sky, we might grow faint 
5 To muse upon eternity's constraint 

Round our aspirant souls; but since the scope 
Must widen early, is it well to droop, 
For a few days consumed in loss and taint? 
O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted 
10 And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road, 
Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread 
Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod 
To meet the flints? At least it may be said, 
" Because the way is sJiort, 1 thank thee, God." 

THE PROSPECT 

Methinks we do as fretful children do, 

Leaning their faces on the window-pane 

To sigh the glass dim with their own breath's 

stain. 
And shut the sky and landscape from their view : 
5 And thus, alas, since God the maker drew 
A mystic separation 'twixt those twain. 
The life beyond us, and our souls in pain, 



542 VICTORIAN VERSE 

We miss the prospect which we are called unto 
By grief we are fools to use. Be still and strong, 
10 O man, my brother! hold thy sobbing breath. 
And keep thy soul's large window pure from 

wrong 
That so, as life's appointment issueth. 
Thy vision may be clear to watch along 
The sunset consummation-lights of death. 

W^ORK 

What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil; 
Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines 
For all the heat o' the day, till it declines, 
And Death's V mild curfew shall from work assoil. 

5 God did anoint thee with His odorous oil. 
To wrestle, not to reign; and He assigns 
All thy tears over, like pure crystallines, 
For younger fellow-workers of the soil 

To wear for amulets. So others shall 
10 Take patience, labour, to their heart and hand. 
From thy hand and thy heart and thy brave cheer, 
And God's grace fructify through thee to all. 
The least flower, with a brimming cup meiy stand. 
And share its dew-drop with another near. 

(FxovA Sonnets from the Portuguese, 1850) 

I. 

I thought once how Theocritus had sung 

Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, 

Who each one in a gracious hand appears 

To bear a gift for mortals, old or young : 

6 And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, 
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears. 
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 543 

Those of my own life, who by turns had flung 
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, 
10 So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move 

Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; 
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, — 
" Guess now who holds thee ? "— " Death," I said. 

But, there. 
The silver answer rang, — " Not Death, but Love." 

VI. 

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand 
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore 
Alone upon the threshold of my door 
Of individual life, I shall command 
5 The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand 
Serenely in the sunshine as before, 
Without the sense of that which I forbore — 
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land 
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine 
10 With pulses that beat double. What I do 
And what I dream include thee, as the wine 
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue 
God for myself. He hears that name of thine. 
And sees within my eyes the tears of two. 

XXXY. 

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange 
And be all to me? Shall I never miss 
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss 
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange, 
5 When I look up, to drop on a new range 
Of walls and floors, another home than this ? 
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is 
Filled by dead eyes too tender to know change ? 
That's hardest. If to conquer love, has tried, 
10 To conquer grief, tries more, as all things prove; 



544 VICTORIAN VERSE 

For grief indeed is love and grief beside. 
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love. 
Yet love me — wilt thou ? Open thine heart wide, 
And fold within the wet wings of thy dove. 

XLIII. 

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. 
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 
For the ends of Being, and ideal Grace. 
5 I love thee to the level of everyday's 
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. 
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right ; 
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. 
I love thee with the passion put to use 
10 In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. 
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath, 
Smiles, tears, of all my life ! — and, if God choose, 
I shall but love thee better after death. 

dbatles Iklngslei? 

1819-1875 

SONG 

(From The Sainfs Tragedy, 1848) 

Oh! that we two were Maying 

Down the stream of the soft spring breeze; 

Like children with violets playing 

In the shade of the whispering trees. 

5 Oh! that we two sat dreaming 

On the sward of some sheep-trimmed down 
Watching the white mist steaming 
Over river and mead and town. 



4 



CHARLES KINGSLEY 545 

Oh! that we two lay sleeping 
10 In our nest in the churchyard sod, 

With our limbs at rest on the quiet earth's breast, 
And our souls at home with God. 



THE THREE FISHERS 
(1851) 

Three fishers went sailing away to the West, 
Away to the West as the sun went down; 
Each thought on the woman who loved him the 
best. 
And the children stood watching them out of 
the town, 
5 For men must work, and women must weep. 
And there's little to earn, and many to keep. 
Though the harbour bar be moaning. 

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, 
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went 
down ; 
10 They looked at the squall, and they looked at the 
shower. 
And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and 
brown. 
But men must work, and women must weep. 
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep. 
And the harbour bar be moaning. 

15 Three corpses lay out on the shining sands 

In the morning gleam as the tide went down, 
And the women are weeping and wringing their 
hands 
For those who will never come home to the 
town; 



546 VICTORIAN VERSE 

For men must work, and women must weep, 
20 And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep; 
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. 



THE SANDS OF DEE 
(From Alton Locke, 1849) 



" O Mary, go and call the cattle home 
And call the cattle home. 
And call the cattle home 
Across the sands of Dee ; " 
5 The western wind was wild and dank with foam 
And all alone went she. 

The western tide crept up along the sand. 
And o'er and o'er the sand, 
And round and round the sand, 
10 As far as eye could see. 

The rolling mist came down and hid the land : 
And never home came she. 

" Oh ! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — 
A tress cf golden hair, 
15 A drowned maiden's hair 

Above the nets at sea? 
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair 
Among the stakes on Dee." 

They rowed her in across the rolling foam, 
20 The cruel crawling foam. 

The cruel hungry foam. 
To her grave beside the sea: 
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle 
home 
Across the sands of Dee. 



CHABLES KINGSLEY 647 

CLEAR AND COOL 

(Song from The Water Babies, 1863) 

Clear and cool, clear and cool, 
By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool; 

Cool and clear, cool and clear. 
By shining shingle, and foaming wear; 
5 Under the crag where the ouzel sings, 

And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings, 

Undefiled, for the undefiled; 
Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. 

Dank and foul, dank and foul, 

10 By the smoky town in its murky cowl; 

Foul and dank, foul and dank. 

By wharf and sewer and slimy bank; 

Darker and darker the further I go. 

Baser and baser the richer I grow; 

15 Who dare sport with the sin-defiled? 

Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child. 

Strong and free, strong and free; 
The floodgates are open, away to the sea. 
Free and strong, free and strong, 
20 Cleansing my streams as I hurry along 
To the golden sands, and the leaping bar. 
And the taintless tide that awaits me afar. 
As I lose myself in the infinite main. 
Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned 
again. 
25 Undefiled, for the undefiled; 

Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. 



648 VICTORIAN VERSE 

Httbur Ibugb Clouab 

1819-1861 
QUA CURSUM VENTUS 

(From Ambarvalia, 1843) 

As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay 
With canvas drooping, side by side, 

Two towers of sail at dawn of day 
Are scarce long leagues apart descried ; 

5 When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, 
And all the darkling hours they plied. 
Nor dreamt but each the self -same seas 
By each was cleaving, side by side : 

E'en so — but why the tale reveal 
10 Of those, whom year by year unchanged. 
Brief absence joined anew* to feel. 
Astounded, soul from soul estranged? 

At dead of night their sails were filled. 

And onward each rejoicing steered — 

15 Ah, neither blame, for neither willed, 

Or wist, what first with dawn appeared 

To veer, how vain! On, onward strain. 

Brave barks! In light, in darkness too, 
Through Avinds and tides one compass guides- 
20 To that, and your own selves, be true. 

But O blithe breeze ! and O great seas. 
Though ne'er, that earliest parting past. 

On your wide plain they join again. 
Together lead them home at last. 



ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 549 

25 Qne port, methought, alike they sought, 
One purpose hold where'er they fare, — 
O bounding breeze, O rushing seas ! 
At last, at last, unite them there. 



WITH WHOM IS NO VARIABLENESS, NEITHER 
SHADOW OF TURNING " 

(From the same) 

It fortifies my soul to know 
That, though I perish, Truth is so: 
That, howsoe'er I stray and range, 
Whatever I do, Thou dost not change. 
5 I steadier step when I recall 
That, if I slip Thou dost not fall. 



SAY NOT, THE STRUGGLE NOUGHT AVATLETH 

(From the same) 

Say not, the struggle nought availeth, 
The labour and the wounds are vain, 

The enemy faints not, nor faileth, 
And as things have been they remain. 

5 If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; 
It may be, in yon smoke concealed, 
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers. 
And, but for you, possess the ficild. 

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, 
10 Seem here no painful inch to gain. 

Far back, through crocks and inlets making, 
Comes silent, flooding in, the main. 



550 VICTORIAN VERSE 

And not by eastern windows only, 

Where daylight comes, comes in the light, 
15 In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly. 
But westward, look, the land is bright. 



THE STREAM OF LIFE 
(From the same) 

stream descending to the sea. 
Thy messy banks between. 

The fiow'rets blow, the grasses grow, 
The leafy trees are green. 

6 In garden plots the children play, 
The fields the labourers till. 
And houses stand on either hand. 
And thou descendest still. 

O life descending unto death, 
10 Our waking eyes behold. 

Parent and friend thy lapse attend. 
Companions young and old. 

Strong purposes our minds possess. 
Our hearts affections fill, 
15 We toil and earn, we seek and learn. 
And thou descendest still. 

O end to which our currents tend. 

Inevitable sea. 
To which we flow, what do we know, 
20 What shall we guess of thee ? 

A roar we hear upon thy shore, 

As we our course fulfil; 
Scarce we divine a sun will shine 

And be above us still. 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 651 



/iDattbew Hrnolt) 

1832-1888 
STANZAS FROM THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE 

(First published in Fraser's Magazine, 1855) 

Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused 
With rain, where thick the crocus blows, 
Past the dark forges long disused, 
The mule-track from Saint Laurent goes. 
5 The bridge is cross'd, and slow we ride, 
Through forest, up the mountain-side. 

The autumnal evening darkens round, 
The wind is up, and drives the rain; 
While, hark! far down, with strangled sound 
10 Doth the Dead Guier's stream complain. 
Where that wet smoke, among the woods, 
Over his boiling cauldron broods. 

Swift rush the spectral vapours white 
Past limestone scars with ragged pines, 
15 Showing— then blotting from our sight !— ^ 
Halt— through the cloud-drift something shines I 
High in the valley, wet and drear. 
The huts of Courrerie appear. 

Strike leftward! cries our guide; and higher 
20 Mounts up the stony forest-way. 
At last the encircling trees retire; 
Look ! through the showery twilight grey 
What pointed roofs are these advance?— 
A palace of the Kings of France ? 

25 Approach, for what we seek is here ! 
Alight, and sparely sup, and wait 



552 VICTORIAN VERSE 

For rest in this outbuilding near; 
Then cross the sward and reach that gate; 
Knock ; pass the wicket ! Thou art come 
30 To the Carthusians' world-famed home. 

The silent courts, where night and day 
Into their stone-carved basins cold 
The splashing icy fountains play — 
The humid corridors behold, 
35 Where, ghostlike in the deepening night, 
Cowl'd forms brush by in gleaming white! 

The chapel, where no organ's peal 
Invests the stern and naked prayer! — 
With penitential cries they kneel 
40 And wrestle; rising then, with bare 
With white uplifted faces stand 
Passing the Host from hand to hand; 

• 

Each takes, and then his visage wan 
Is buried in his cowl once more. 
45 The cells! — the suffering Son of Man 
Upon the wall — the knee-worn floor — 
And where they sleep, that wooden bed. 
Which shall their coffin be, when dead! 

The library, where tract and tome 
50 Not to feed priestly pride are there. 

To hymn the conquering march of Rome, 
Nor yet to amuse, as ours are! 
They paint of souls the inner strife. 
Their drops of blood, their death in life. 

65 The garden, overgrown — yet mild, 

See, fragrant herbs are flowering there! 



. MATTHEW ARNOLD 653 

Strong children of the Alpine wild 
Whose culture is the brethren's care ; 
Of human tasks their only one, 
60 And cheerful works beneath the sun. 

Those halls, too, destined to contain 
Each its own pilgrim-host of old. 
From England, Germany, or Spain — 
All are before me ! I behold 
65 The House, the Brotherhood austere! — 
And what am I, that I am here? 

For rigorous teachers seized my youth, 
And purged its faith, and trimm'd its fire, 
Shew'd me the high, white star of Truth, 
70 There bade me gaze, and there aspire. 
Even now their whispers pierce the gloom: 
What dost thou in this living tomb? 

Forgive me, masters of the mind ! 
At whose behest I long ago 
75 So much unlearnt, so much resign'd — 
I come not here to be your foe ! 
I seek these anchorites, not in ruth. 
To curse and to deny your truth; 

Not as their friend, or child, I speak! 
80 But as, on some far northern strand. 
Thinking of his own Gods, a Greek 
In pity and mournful awe might stand 
Before some fallen Runic stone — 
For both were faiths, and both are gone. 

85 Wandering between two worlds, one dead. 
The other powerless to be born. 



654 VICTORIAN VERSE 

With nowhere yet to rest my head, 
Like these, on earth I wait forlorn. 
Their faith, my tears, the world deride — 
90 I come to shed them at their side. 

Oh, hide me in your gloom profound. 
Ye solemn seats of holy pain! 
Take me, cowl'd forms, and fence me round, 
Till I possess my soul again; 
95 Till free my thoughts before me roll, 
Not chafed by hourly false control ! 

For the world cries your faith is now 
But a dead time's exploded dream ; 
My melancholy, sciolists say, 
100 Is a pass'd mode, an outworn theme, — 
As if the world had ever had 
A faith, or sciolists been sad! 

Ah, if it be pass'd, take away, 
At least, the restlessness, the pain! 
105 Be man henceforth no more a prey 
To these out-dated stings again ! 
The nobleness of grief is gone — 
Ah, leave us not the fret alone ! 

But — if you cannot give us ease — 
110 Last of the race of them who grieve 
Here leave us to die out with these 
Last of the people who believe! 
Silent, while years engrave the brow; 
Silent — the best are silent now. 

115 Achilles ponders in his tent. 

The kings of modern thought are dumb; 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 565 

Silent they are, though not content, 
And wait to see the future come. 
They have the grief men had of yore, 
120 But they contend and cry no more. 

Our fathers water'd with their tears 
This sea of time whereon we sail; 
Their voices were in all men's ears 
Who pass'd within their puissant hail. 
125 Still the same ocean round us raves, 

But we stand mute, and watch the waves. 

For what avail'd it, all the noise 
And outcry of the former men ? — 
Say, have their sons achieved more joys, 
130 Say, is life lighter now than then? 

The sufferers died, they left their pain — 
The pangs which tortured them remain. 

What helps it now, that Byron bore. 
With haughty scorn which mock'd the smart, 
135 Through Europe to the ^tolian shore 
The pageant of his bleeding heart? 
That thousands counted every groan. 
And Europe made his woe her own ? 

What boots it, Shelley! that the breeze 
140 Carried thy lovely wail away. 
Musical through Italian trees 
Which fringe thy soft blue Spezzian bay? 
Inheritors of thy distress 
Have restless hearts one throb the less? 

145 Or are we easier, to have read, 

O Obermann! the sad stern page, 



556 VICTORIAN VERSE 

Which tells us how thou hidd'st thy head 
From the fierce tempest of thine age 
In the lone brakes of Fontainebleau, 
150 Or chalets near the Alpine snow? 

Ye slumber in your silent grave ! — 
The world, which for an idle day 
Grace to your mood of sadness gave, 
Long since hath flung her weeds away. 
155 The eternal trifler breaks your spell; 
But we — we learnt your lore too well ! 

Years hence, perhaps, may dawn an age. 
More fortunate, alas! than we, 
Which without hardness will be sage, 
160 And gay without frivolity. 

Sons of the world, oh, speed those years; 
But, while we wait, allow our tears ! 

Allow them ! We admire with awe 
The exulting thunder of your race; 
165 You give the universe your law. 
You triumph over time and space! 
Your pride of life, your tireless powers, 
We praise them, but they are not ours. 

We are like children rear'd in shade 
170 Beneath some old-world abbey wall. 
Forgotten in a forest-glade, 
And secret from the eyes of all. 
Deep, deep the greenwood round them waves. 
Their abbey, and its close of graves! 

175 But, where the road runs near the stream. 
Oft through the trees they catch a glance 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 557 

Of passing troops in the sun's beam — 
Pennon, and plume, and flashing lance! 
Forth to the world those soldiers fare, 
180 To life, to cities, and to war! 

And through the wood, another way, 
Faint bugle-notes from far are borne, 
Where hunters gather, staghounds bay, 
Round some old forest-lodge at morn. 
185 Gay dames are there, in sylvan green; 
Laughter and cries — those notes between! 

The banners flashing through the trees 
Make their blood dance and chain their eyes; 
That bugle-music on the breeze 
190 Arrests them with a charm'd surprise. 
Banner by turns and bugle woo: 
Ye shy recluses, follow too! 

O children, what do ye reply? — 
" Action and pleasure, will ye roam 
195 Through these secluded dells to cry 
And call us? — but too late ye come! 
Too late for us your call ye blow. 
Whose bent was taken long ago. 

" Long since we pace this shadow'd nave ; 
200 We watch those yellow tapers shine, 
Em.blems of hope over the grave, 
In the high altar's depth divine. 
The organ carries to our ear 
Its accents of another sphere. 

205 " Fenced early in this cloistral round 
Of reverie, of shade, of prayer, 



558 VICTORIAN VERSE 

How should we grow in other ground? 
How can we flower in foreign air? 
— Pass, banners, pass, and bugles, cease; 
210 And leave our desert to its peace ! " 



GEIST'S GRAVE 
(January, 1881) 

Four years ! — and didst thou stay above 
The ground, which hides thee now, but four? 
And all that life, and all that love. 
Were crowded, Geist ! into no more ? 

6 Only four years those winning ways. 
Which make me for thy presence yearn, 
Call'd us to pet thee or to praise. 
Dear little friend! at every turn? 

That loving heart, that patient soul, 
10 Had they indeed no longer span. 

To run their course, and reach their goal, 
And read their homily to man ? 

That liquid, melancholy eye. 
From whose pathetic, soul-fed springs 
15 Seem'd surging the Virgilian cry. 
The sense of tears in mortal things — 

That steadfast, mournful strain, consoled 
By spirits gloriously gay. 
And temper of heroic mould — 
20 What, was four years their whole short day? 

Yes, only four! — and not the course 
Of all the centuries yet to come. 
And not the infinite resource 
Of nature, with her countless sum 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 569 

25 Of figures, with her fulness vast 
Of new creation evermore, 
Can ever quite repeat the past. 
Or just thy little self restore. 

Stern law of every mortal lot ! 
30 Which man, proud man, finds hard to bear, 
And builds himself I know not what 
Of second life I know not where. 

But thou, when struck thine hour to go, 
On us, who stood despondent by, 
35 A meek last glance of love didst throw, 
And humbly lay thee down to die. 

Yet would we keep thee in our heart — 
Would fix our favourite on the scene, 
Nor let thee utterly depart 
40 And be as if thou ne'er hadst been. 

And so there rise these lines of verse 

On lips that rarely form them now; 

While to each other we rehearse: 

Such ways, such arts, such looks hadst thou! 

45 We stroke thy broad brown paws again, 
We bid thee to thy vacant chair. 
We greet thee by the window-pane, 
We hear thy scufile on the stair; 

We see the flaps of thy large ears 
50 Quick raised to ask which way we go; 
Crossing the frozen lake, appears 
Thy small black figure on the snow! 

Nor to us only art thou dear 
Who mourn thee in thine English home; 
55 Thou hast thine absent master's tear, 
Dropt by the far Australian foam. 



560 VICTORIAN VERSE 

Thy memory lasts both here and there, 
And thou shalt live as long as we. 
And after that — thou dost not care! 
60 In us was all the world to thee. 

Yet, fondly zealous for thy fame, 
Even to a date beyond our own 
We strive to carry down thy name. 
By mounded turf, and graven stone. 

65 We lay thee, close within our reach, 

Here, where the grass is smooth and warm. 
Between the holly and the beech, 
Where oft we watch'd thy couchant form. 

Asleep, yet lending half an ear 
70 To travellers on the Portsmouth road; — 
There choose we thee, O guardian dear, 
Mark'd with a stone, thy last abode ! 

Then some, who through this garden pass. 
When we too, like thyself, are clay, 
75 Shall see thy grave upon the grass. 
And stop before the stone, and say: 

People ivho lived here long ago 
Did by this stone, it seems, intend 
To name for future times to know 
80 The dachs-hound, Geist, their little friend. 

DOVER BEACH 

(From Mto Poems, 1867) 

The sea is calm to-night. 
The tide is full, the moon lies fair 
Upon the straits; — on the French coast the light 
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, 
5 Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 661 

Come to the window, sweet is the night-air ! 
Only, from the long line of spray- 
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd sand. 
Listen ! you hear the grating roar 
10 Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, 
At their return, up the high strand, 
Begin, and cease, and then again begin, 
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring 
The eternal note of sadness in. 

15 Sophocles long ago 

Heard it on the ^gean, and it brought 

Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow 

Of human misery; we 

Find also in the sound a thought, 
20 Hearing it by this distant northern sea. 

The sea of faith 
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore 
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd. 
But now I only hear 
25 Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar. 
Retreating, to the breath 

Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear 
And naked shingles of the world. 

Ah, love, let us be true 
30 To one another! for the world, which seems 

To lie before us like a land of dreams. 

So various, so beautiful, so new. 

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, 

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; 
35 And we are here as on a darkling plain 

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and 
flight. 

Where ignorant armies clash by night. 



562 VICTORIAN VERSE 

LINES WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS 
(From EmpedocUs on Etna and Other Poems, 1853) 

In this lone, open glade I lie, 

Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand; 

And at its end, to stay the eye, 

Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand! 

5 Birds here make song, each bird has his, 
Across the girdling city's hum. 
How green under the boughs it is! 
How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come! 

Sometimes a child will cross the glade 
10 To take his nurse his broken toy; 
Sometimes a thrush flit overhead 
Deep in her unknown day's employ. 

Here at my feet what wonders pass. 
What endless, active life is here! 
15 What blowing daisies, fragrant grass! 
An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear. 

Scarce fresher is the mountain-sod 
Where the tired angler lies, stretch'd out. 
And, eased of basket and of rod, 
20 Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout. 

In the huge world, which roars hard by. 

Be others happy if they can ! 

But in my helpless cradle I 

Was breathed on by the rural Pan. 

25 I on men's impious uproar hurl'd. 
Think often, as I hear them rave, 
That peace has left the upper world 
And now keeps only in the grave. 



a 



MATTHEW ABNOLD 563 

Yet here is peace for ever new ! 
30 When I who watch them am away, 
Still all things in this glade go through 
The changes of their quiet day. 

Then to their happy rest they pass! 
The flowers upclose, the birds are fed, 
35 The night comes down upon the grass. 
The child sleeps warmly in his bed. 

Calm soul of all things! make it mine 
To feel, amid the city's jar, 
That there abides a peace of thine 
40 Man did not make, and cannot mar. 

The will to neither strive nor cry. 
The power to feel with others give! 
Calm, calm me more! nor let me die 
Before I have begun to live. 

SELF-DEPENDENCE 

(From the same) 

Weary of myself, and sick of asking 
What I am, and what I ought to be. 
At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me 
Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea. 

5 And a look of passionate desire 
O'er the sea and to the stars I send : 
" Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me. 
Calm me, ah, compose me to the end! 

"Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters, 
10 On my heart your mighty charm renew; 
Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you. 
Feel my soul becoming vast like you ! " 



664 VICTORIAN VERSE 

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, 
Over the lit sea's unquiet way, 
15 In the rustling night-air came the answer: 
" Wouldst thou le as these are ? Live as they. 

" Unaffrighted by the silence round them, 
Undistracted by the sights they see, 
These demand not that the things without them 
20 Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. 

" And with joy the stars perform their shining, 
And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll; 
For self -poised they live, nor pine with noting 
All the fever of some differing soul. 

25 " Bounded by themselves, and unregardful 
In what state God's other works may be. 
In their own tasks all their powers pouring. 
These attain the mighty life you see." . 

O air-born voice ! long since, severely clear, 
30 A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear : 
" Resolve to be thyself ; and know, that he 
Who finds himself, loses his misery ! " 

SHAKSPEARE 

(From The Strayed Reveller and Other Poems, 1849) 

Others abide our question. Thou art free. 
We ask and ask — Thou smilest and art still, 
Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill, 
Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, 

6 Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea. 
Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, 
Spares but the cloudy border of his base 
To the foil'd searching of mortality; 



GABRIEL CHARLES BANTE ROSSETTI 565 

And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams 
know, 
10 Self-school'd, self-scann'd, self-honour'd, self- 
secure, 

Didst tread on earth unguess'd at. — Better so ! 

All pains the immortal spirit must endure. 

All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow. 

Find their sole speech in that victorious brow. 

(Babrtel Cbarles H)ante IRossettt 

1828-1882 

THE BLESSED DAMOZEL 

(Third Version, from Poems, 1870) 

The blessed damozel leaned out 

From the gold bar of Heaven; 
Her eyes were deeper than the depth 

Of waters stilled at even; 
5 She had three lilies in her hand. 

And the stars in her hair were seven. 

Her robe ungirt from clasp to hem, 

No wrought flowers did adorn. 
But a white rose of Mary's gift, 
10 For service meetly worn; 

Her hair that lay along her back 

Was yellow like ripe corn. 

Herseemed she scarce had been a day 

One of God's choristers; 
15 The wonder was not yet quite gone 

From that still look of hers; 
Albeit, to them she left, her day 

Had counted as ten years. 



666 VICTORIAN VERSE 

(To one, it is ten years of years. 
20 ... Yet now, and in this place. 
Surely she leaned o'er me — her hair 

Fell all about my face. . . 
Nothing: the autumn fall of leaves. 

The whole year sets apace.) 

25 It was the rampart of God's house 
That she was standing on; 
By God built over the sheer depth 

The which is Space begun; 
So high, that looking downward thence 
30 She scarce could see the sun. 

It lies in Heaven, across the flood 

Of ether, as a bridge. 
Beneath, the tides of day and night 
With flame and darkness ridge 
35 The void, as low as where this earth 
Spins like a fretful midge. 

Around her, lovers, newly met 
'Mid deathless love's acclaims. 

Spoke evermore among themselves 
40 Their heart-remembered names; 

And the souls mounting up to God 
Went by her like thin flames. 

And still she bowed herself and stooped 
Out of the circling charm; 
45 Until her bosom must have made 
The bar she leaned on warm. 

And the lilies lay as if asleep 
Along her bended arm. 

From the fixed place of Heaven she saw 
50 Time like a pulse shake fierce 



GABRIEL CHARLES DANTE ROSSETTI 567 

Through all the world. Her gaze still strove 

Within the gulf to pierce 
Its path ; and now she spoke as when 

The stars sang in their spheres. 

55 The sun was gone now ; the curled moon 
Was like a little feather 
Fluttering far down the gulf; and now 

She spoke through the still weather. 
Her voice was like the voice the stars 
60 Had when they sang together. 

(Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song. 

Strove not her accents there, 
Fain to be barkened? When those bells 
Possessed the mid-day air, 
65 Strove not her steps to reach my side 
Down all the echoing stair?) 

' I wish that he were come to me, 
For he will come,'^he said. 

* Have I not prayed in Heaven ? — on earth, 
70 Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd? 

Are not two prayers a perfect strength? 
And shall I feel afraid ? 

* When round his head the aureole clings, 

And he is clothed in white, 
75 I'll take his hand and go with him 
To the deep wells of light; 
As unto a stream we will step down, 
And bathe there in God's sight. 

* We two will stand beside that shrine, 
80 Occult, withheld, untrod. 



568 VICTORIAN VERSE 

Whose lamps are stirred continually 
With prayer sent up to God ; 

And see our old prayers, granted, melt 
Each like a little cloud. 

85 ' We two will lie i' the shadow of 
That living mystic tree 
Within whose secret growth the Dove 

Is sometimes felt to be. 
While every leaf that His plumes touch 
90 Saith His name audibly. 

* And I myself will teach to him, 

I myself, lying so. 
The songs I sing here ; which his voice 
Shall pause in, hushed and slow, 
95 And find some knowledge at each pause, 
Or some new thing to know.' 

( Alas ! We two, we two, thou say'st ! 

Yea, one wast thou with me 
That once of old. But shall God lift 
100 To endless unity 

The soul whose likeness with thy soul 

Was but its love for thee?) 

* We two,' she said, * will seek the groves 

Where the lady Mary is, 
105 With her five handmaidens, whose names 
Are five sweet symphonies, 
Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, 
Margaret and Rosalys. 

' Circlewise sit they, with bound locks 
110 And foreheads garlanded; 



GABRIEL CHARLES DANTE ROSSEITI 569 

Into the fine cloth white like flame 

Weaving- the golden thread. 
To fashion the birth-robes for them 

Who are just born, being dead. 

115 ' He shall fear, haply, and be dumb : 

Then will I lay my cheek 

To his, and tell about our love, 

Not once abashed or weak: 
And the dear Mother will approve 
120 My pride, and let me speak. 

* Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, 

To Tlim round whom all souls 
Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads 
Bowed with their aureoles: 
125 And angels meeting us shall sing 
To their citherns and citoles. 

' There will I ask of Christ the Lord 

Thus much for him and me : — 
Only to live as once on earth 
130 With Love,— only to be, 
As then awhile, forever now 

Together, I and he.' 

She gazed and listened and then said. 

Less sad of speech than mild, — 
135 ' All this is when he comes.' She ceased. 

The light thrilled towards her, fill'd 
With angels in strong level flight. 

Her eyes prayed, and she smil'd. 

(T saw her smile.) But soon their path 
140 Was vague in distant spheres: 



570 VICTORIAN VERSE 

And then she cast her arms along 

The golden barriers, 
And laid her face between her hands, 

And wept. (I heard her tears.) 



THE SEA-LIMITS 
(From the same) 

Consider the sea's listless chime: 
Time's self it is, made audible, — 
The murmur of the earth's own shell. 

Secret continuance sublime 
6 Is the sea's end : our sight may pass 
No furlong further. Since time was. 

This sound hath told the lapse of time. 

'No quiet, which is death's, — it hath 
The mournfulness of ancient life, 
10 Enduring always at dull strife. 

As the world's heart of rest and wrath. 
Its painful pulse is in the sands. 

Last utterly, the whole sky stands. 

Gray and not known, along its path. 

15 Listen alone beside the sea. 

Listen alone among the woods; 
Those voices of twin solitudes 
Shall have one sound alike to thee: 
Hark where the murmurs of thronged men 
20 Surge and sink back and surge again, — 
Still the one voice of wave and tree. 

Gather a shell from the strown beach 
And listen at its lips: they sigh 
The same desire and mystery. 



GABRIEL CHARLES DANTE ROSSETTI 671 

25 The echo of the whole sea's speech. 
And all mankind is thus at heart 
Not any thing but what thou art : 
And Earth, Sea, Man, are all in each. 

SONNETS 

SIBYLLA PALMIFERA 

(For a Picture) 

Under the arch of Life, where love and death. 
Terror and mystery, guard her shrine, I saw 
Beauty enthroned; and though her gaze struck 
awe, 
I drew it in as simply as my breath. 
5 Hers are the eyes which, over and beneath, 

The sky and sea bend on thee, — which can draw. 
By sea or sky or woman, to one law, 
The allotted bondman of her palm and wreath. 

This is that Lady Beauty, in whose praise 
10 Thy voice and hand shake still, — long known to 
thee 
By flying hair and fluttering hem, — the beat 
Following her daily of thy heart and feet. 
How passionately and irretrievably. 
In what fond flight, how many ways and days I 

(From The House of Life, in Ballads and Sonnets, 1881) 
SONNET XIX 

SILENT NOON 

Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass, — 
The finger-points look through like rosy blooms : 
Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams 
and glooms ^ 



572 VICTORIAN VERSE 

'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass. 
6 All round our nest, far as the eye can pass, 
Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge 
Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn- 
hedge. 
'Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass. 

Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragon-fly 
10 Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky : — 

So this wing'd hour is dropt to us from above. 
Oh! clasp we to our iiearts, for deathless dower. 
This close-companioned inarticulate hour 

When twofold silence was the song of love. 



SONNET LXIII. 

INCLUSrVENESS 

The changing guests, each in a different mood. 
Sit at the roadside table and arise : 
And every life among them in likewise 

Is a soul's board set daily with new food. 
5 What man has bent o'er his son's sleep, to brood 
How that face shall watch his when cold it lies ? 
Or thought, as his own mother kissed his eyes, 

Of what her kiss was when his father wooed ? 

May not this ancient room thou sit'st in dwell 
10 In separate living souls for joy or pain? 
Nay, all its corners may be painted plain. 
Where Heaven shows pictures of some life spent 
well; 
And may be stamped, a memory all in vain, 
Upon the sight of lidless eyes in Hell. 



WILLIAM MORRIS 573 

SONNET XCVII. 

A SUPERSCRIPTION 

Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been; 
I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell; 
Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell 
Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between; 
5 Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen 

Which had Life's form and Love's, but by my 

spell 
Is now a shaken shadow intolerable, 
Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen. 

Mark me how still I am ! But should there dart 
10 One moment through thy soul the soft surprise 
Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of 
sighs, — 
Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart 
Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart 
Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. 



HmtUtam /IDorrts 

1834-1896 

AN APOLOGY 

(From The Eartlily Paradise, 1868-70) 

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, 

I cannot ease the burden of your fears. 
Or make quick-coming death a little thing. 
Or bring again the pleasure of past years, 
Nor for my words shall ye forget your tearo. 
Or hope again for aught that I can say. 
The idle singer of an empty day. 



574 VICTORIAN VERSE 

But rather, when aweary of your mirth, 
From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, 
10 And, feeling kindly unto all the earth. 
Grudge every minute as it passes by. 
Made the more mindful that the sweet days die — 
— Remember me a little then I pray. 
The idle singer of an empty day. 

15 The heavy trouble, the bewildering care 

That weighs us down who live and earn our bread, 
These idle verses have no power to bear; 
So let me sing of names remembered, 
Because they, living not, can ne'er be dead, 

20 Or long time take their memory quite away 
From us poor singers of an empty day. 

Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time. 
Why should I strive to set the crooked straight? 
Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme 
25 Beats with light wing against the ivory gate. 
Telling a tale not too importunate 
To those who in the sleepy region stay, 
Lulled by the singer of an empty day. 

Folk say, a wizard to a northern king 
30 At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did 
show. 
That through one window men beheld the spring, 
And through another saw the summer glow, 
And through a third the fruited vines a-row. 
While still, unheard, but in its wonted way, 
35 Piped the drear wind of that December day. 

So with this Earthly Paradise it is. 
If ye will read aright, and pardon me. 
Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss 



WILLIAM MORRIS 675 

Midmost the beating of the steely sea, 
40 Where tossed about all hearts of men must be ; 
Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay, 
Not the poor singer of an empty day. 



THE DAY OF DAYS 

(From Poems by the Way, 1892) 

Each eve earth f alleth down the dark, 
As though its hope were o'er; 
Yet lurks the sun where day is done 
Behind to-morrow's door. 

5 Grey grows the dawn while men-folk sleep, 
Unseen spreads on the light, 
Till the thrush sings to the coloured things. 
And earth forgets the night. 

No otherwise wends on our Hope: 
10 E'en as a tale that's told 

Are fair lives lost, and all the cost 
Of wise and true and bold. 

We've tolled and failed; we spake the word; 
None hearkened; dumb we lie; 
15 Our Hope is dead, the seed we spread 
Fell o'er the earth to die. 

What's this? For joy our hearts stand still. 
And life is loved and dear, 
The lost and found the Cause hath crowned, 
20 The Day of Days is here. 



576 VICTORIAN VERSE 

DRAWING NEAR THE LIGHT 

(From the same) 

Lo, when we wade the tangled wood, 
In haste and hurry to be there, 
Nought seem its leaves and blossoms good, 
For all that they be fashioned fair. 

6 But looking up, at last we see 
The glimmer of the open light, 
From o'er the place where we would be: 
Then grow the very brambles bright. 

So now, amidst our day of strife, 
10 With many a matter glad we play. 
When once we see the light of life 
Gleam through the tangle of to-day. 

IRub^ar^ Iktpling 

1865— 
RECESSIONAL 

(1897) 

God of our fathers, known of old — 
Lord of our far-flung battle-line — 

Beneath Whose awful Hand we hold 

Dominion over palm and pine — 

5 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 

Lest we forget — lest we forget! 

The tumult and the shouting dies — 
The captains and the kings depart — 



RUDYARD KIPLING 577 

Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice, 
10 An humble and a contrite heart. 
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet. 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 

Far-called our navies melt away — 
On dune and headland sinks the fire — 
15 Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! 
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose, 
20 Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe — • 
Such boasting as the Gentiles use 

Or lesser breeds without the Law — 
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 

25 For heathen heart that puts her trust 
In reeking tube and iron shard 
All valiant dust that builds on dust. 

And guarding calls not Thee to guard — 
For frantic boast and foolish word, 
30 Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord ! 

Amen. 



NOTES 

The heavy-faced figures refer to pages, the ordinary figures to lines. 
Int. Eng. Lit- indicates the editor's Introduction to English Literature. 

BALLADS 

(OF VAKIOUS AND UNCERTAIN DATES.) 

CHEVY CHASE. 

1. This ballad, like its companion the still older Battle of 
Otterbourne, is a famous expression in poi)ular song of the 
fierce antagonism, the jealousy, and the daring fostered and 
kept alive among the dwellers in the Borders, or Marches, 
between England and Scotland, by frequent wars and con- 
tinual forays. Percy says, speaking of the origin of the 
poem: "The ballad, without being historical, may have had 
some foundation in fact. The law of the Marches interdicted 
either nation from hunting on the borders of the other, with- 
out leave from the proprietors, or their deputies. The long 
rivalry between the martial families of Percy and Douglas 
must have bur.st into many sharp feuds and little incursions 
not recorded in history ; and the old ballad of the ' Hunting a' 
the Cheviat,' which was the original title, may have sprung 
out of such a quarrel." {Ueliques.) Chevy Chase, now one of 
the most familiar and representative ballads, easily won a high 
place in the popular esteem. In 1711, Addison (who, however, 
knew the poem only in an inferior and more modern version) 
wrote : " The old Song of Chevy-Chase is the favorite ballad 
of the common people of England: and Ben Jonson used to say 
that he had rather have been the author of it than of all of 
his works." He then quotes the now-familiar passage from 
Sir Philip Sidney's Defense of Poesie {Xh^lt): "I never heard 
the old song of Piercy and Douglas, that I found not my 
heart more moved than with a trumpet, etc." (Spectato?', 
LXX. and LXXIV.) Prof. Child remarks that Sidney's words 
are equally applicable to the Battle of Otterbourne, at least so 
far as the subject is concerned, that being also a song of 
" Piercy and Douglas." Nevertheless, he thinks that the su- 
perior poetic quality of Chevy Chase makes it probable that 

579 



580 BALLADS 

Sidney bad that ballad in mind as is generally supposed. 
{Ballads, Pt. VI. 305.) 

Date. — It bas been tbougbt tliat Gheny Chase is really a 
modified account of tbe Battle of Otterbourne, celebrated in 
the ballad of that name, which took place in 1388. Dr. Child 
holds that the differences in the story of the two ballads are 
not so great as to prevent us from holding this view. As James 
of Scotland is mentioned, we know that it was not before 1424, 
the date of the accession of James 1. (Child, ib. p. 304.) The 
date of actual composition was of course an indefinite time 
after the occurrence of the event celebrated, while Sidney's 
allusion makes it clear that the ballad was well known in 1580. 

1. — 5. Magger = mauger = in spite of, or against the will 
of. (0. F. malgre.) — 10. Let = prevent. (A S. laet = slow. 
Hence to let is to make later or to hinder.) — 13. Tileany = com- 
pany, or following of retainers. 

2. — 20. Reas = rouse. — 21. Byckarte uppone the bent = 
skirmished upon the coarse gra-ss, or the moor. Beaters ap- 
pear to have been sent into the woods to drive the game into 
the open, where the hunters awaited them. — 23. Wyld, i.t. 
the wild deer. — 25. glent = flashed. The word, which is related 
to glitter, glisten, etc., here includes the idea of rapid motion. 
— 31. Mort = the series of notes blown upon the horn to an- 
nounce the death of the deer. (Fr. mort = death.) — 32, Shear 
= in different directions. 0?i sydis shear = on all sides. — 33. 
Quyrry = the slaughtered game. See Skeat's Etymol. Diet. 
— 34. Bryttlynge = the cutting, or, literally, the breaking up, 
of the deer. (A. S. brecan = to break.)— 37. Verament = truly. 
(Fr. vrai = truth; waiment — truly.) 

3. — 43. Bylle = bill, a battle-axe. Brande = a sword, v. 
Skeat. — 57. Glede = a glowing coal. (A, S. glowan = to glow.) 
— 72, Ton of us = one of us,— 78. Yerle = earl.— 81. Cora = 
curse. 

5. — 110. Wouche = wrong, damage. — 122. Basnites = 
basinet, "a steel cap, originally of very simple form, named 
from its resemblance to a little basin." {Cent. Diet.) — 123. 
Myneyeple = "manople, a gauntlet covering hand and fore- 
arm" (Skeat.) — 125. Freyke = man, a warrior. {A.S.frecca = 
a bold man, analogous to Lat. w?*. Pre = free-born, generous.) 

6. — 129. Swapte = struck, or slashed. (A. S. swappen, to 
strike.)— 130. Myllan = Milan steel.— 133. Sprente = sprang. 
(A. S. sprengan = to spring.) — 140. Hight = promise. (A. S. 
Haten.) — 148. Wane: according to Skeat the word means here 
a great number, hence "a single arrow out of a vast quantity." 
Gummere suggests that waiie "might = wone = one; a 
mighty one," but declares this also to be unsatisfactory. 

8.— 194. Stour = conflict, battle.— 201. The tocke . . . 



SIR PATRICK SPENS 581 



Something is wanting here in the MS., and various guesses 
have been made as to the missing word. Probably Skeat's 
suggestion to supply "the fight" comes nearest. It may have 
been some equivalent expression as "hard strikes." — 210. On 
hy = upright. 

9.— 213-234. Thear was slayne with the lord Perse. Percy 
says that most of these here mentioned belonged to distin- 
guished families in the North. John Agertoun, or Haggers- 
toun, is supposed to have been one of the Kutherfords, then 
retained by the house of Douglas ; *^ryche liugbe" is said to 
have been Ralph Neville of Raby Castle, cousin-german to 
Hotspur, etc, (See Reliques.) — 217. Loumle = Lumley. There 
was a prominent family in Northumberland by this name, at 
least one of whom was a follower of the Percies. See Burke's 
Extinct Peerages ; also Stephen's Diet. Nat. Biog. — 236. Makys, 
or make, = mates. — 237. Carpe = sing, talk. {Garpen — to 
talk, to speak.) 

lO.— 242. Jamy, James I. (reigned 1424-1437.)— 251. Lyff- 
tenant of the marches = lieutenant, or deputy, to guard the 
marches or borders between Scotland and England. — 257. 
Brook = use, enjoy. See Gent. i)w<.— 262. Hornby 11-doun = 
Hamildon. There was a battle of Homildon Hill in 1402, 
between the English and the Scotch, in which the former were 
victorious. Percy, called Hotspur, commanded the English 
forces, and Douglas the Scotch. The reference to the occasion 
of this battle in the text is without historical foundation, as a 
careful examination of the chronology of the events referred 
to will show, — 265. " Glendale is the district or ward in which 
Homildon is situated." (Percy.) 

1 1, — 279. Balys bete = remedy our evils. (Percy.) 

SIR PATRICK SPENS (or SPENCE.) 

The question as to whether this famous ballad had any 
historical foundation, and if so, as to the precise events with 
which it is connected, has been much discussed. Various 
theories and opinions on these points will be found in Percy's 
Reliques, Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Child's 
Ballads, etc., but as the matter remains unsettled the conflict- 
ing views need not be here entered upon. Fortunately the de- 
termination of such questions is not necessary for readers who 
value the ballad as poetry, not as a topic for debate. On the 
whole Ailing-ham's conclusion seems the sensible one: "There 
is no old MS. of the ballad. All the foundation which really 
seems attainable is this, that in old times there was much 
intercourse between Scotland and Norway, and between the 
royal courts of the two countries, and that some shipwreck 



583 BALLADS 

not altogether unlike tliis may probably have happened." (The 
Ballad Book, 377.) Coleridge, who takes the motto of his ode 
Dejection from this poem, then refers to it as " the grand old 
ballad of Sir Patrick Spens." The great antiquity generally 
claimed for it has been unsuccessfully disputed, but the exact 
date is not known. 

1. Dumferling = Dum^ermline, a town in Fifeshire, some 
sixteen miles N.W. of Edinburgh, It was a favorite residence 
of the early Scottish kings and contained a royal palace. — 3 
Sailor, accented here on the second syllable, as is letter. The 
practice is common in the old ballads. — 9. Braid letter = an 
open, or patent, letter ; i.e. here, a public document under the 
royal seal. 

12.— 25. Late late yestreen, etc. Inwards quotes this in 
his Weather-Lore, and calls attention to the popular belief that 
the new moon holding the old moon in her arms, or with the 
entire disk visible, is a sign of storm. — 32. Thair hats, etc. 
Motherwell gives this line : " They wat their hats aboun," and 
adds another reading, "Their hair was wat aboun," in a note. 
In any case the meaning is the same : loath to wet their shoes 
they were at last in over their heads. 

13. — 41. Aberdour, an old town on the Frith of Forth, about 
ten miles to the north of Edinburgh. It was half-way from 
Norway to this town that Sir Patrick was lost. 

WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY. 

This ancient song is said to have been first published in 
Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany (1724), but it is thought to have 
been part of another ballad. Lord Jamie Douglas, which cksely 
resembles it in some particulars. Allingham says tliat some 
have placed it about the middle of the sixteenth century. 

1. Waly = an interjection expressing grief, equivalent to 
alas. (See Wella way , of which it is an abbreviated form in 
Cent. Diet.) — 8. Lichtlie = make light of, to use with dis- 
respect.— 17. Arthur's-seat = Arthur's Seat, a steep and rocky 
hill near Edinburgh. St. Anton's Well is about one third of 
the way up its side. (See description in Scott's Heart of Mid- 
lothian, Ch. VII.) 

14, — 32. Cramasie = cramoisy = crimson. 

THE TWA SISTERS O'BINNORIE. 

Dr. Child notes that this is one of the very few old ballads 
still alive in tradition in the British Isles. Under the title of 
TJie Miller and the King's Daughter it was printed as a 
broadside in 1656, and included in the miscellany Wit Restored 



BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL 583 

1658. {Ballads, V. I. Pt. I. 118.) The whole tone and char- 
acter of the story make it highly representative of a large class 
of popular songs and legends dealing with love, tragedy, and 
the supernatural, (Cf. ballads dealing with the allied themes 
of fratricide, The Tioa Brothers, Edward Edward, Son Davie.) 
Not only has the story of the two sisters been told with many 
variations in the British Isles, it has a place in the popular 
poetry of many of the Teutonic nations, as the Danish, Nor- 
wegian, Swedish, Icelandic, etc. (See Child, ib. supra.) The 
use of the refrain should be noted as a characteristic feature 
of early ballad poetry, imitated by certain modern poets. 
" The refrain," says Prof. Gummere, "is almost the only rudi- 
ment of choral poetry surviving to our own day, and it has 
come down to us a companion of the ballad and the dance." 
{Old English Ballads, xc.) For modern use of the refrain cf. 
Rossetti's Troy Town, Eden Bower, Tennyson's Oriana, etc., 
and for parody on the Preraphaelite or other revivals of it, 
see Ballad in C. S. Calverly's Fly Leaves. 

BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL. 

18. The historical basis for this lament is of little impor- 
tance and not certainly known. Motherwell thinks that it may 
have been " a lament for one of the adherents of the house of 
Argyle who fell in the battle of Glenlivet, 1594." 

10. Greeting = weeping. — 15. Toom = empty. — 19. Big = 
build. 

HELEN OF KIRCONNEL. 

19. The foundation of this lament as given by Scott is 
substantially as follows : Helen Irving or Bell, daughter of the 
laird of Kirconuel in Dumfriesshire, had two suitors; one of 
them, Adam Fleming, was preferred. During a secret inter- 
view between the lovers in Kirconnel Churchyard on the river 
Kirtle, the rejected suitor fired on his rival from the other side 
of the stream. Helen was shot in shielding her lover, and died 
in his arms. The poem is the lament of Fleming over Helen's 
grave. {Minstrelsy, etc., 324.) Wordsworth has treated this 
subject in a very inferior poem, Ellen Irwin (see Knight's 
Wordsworth, ii. 191, and note) "choosing" (as be tells us) a 
different style "to preclude all comparison." A similar theme 
is handled more successfully by Tennyson in The Ballad of 
Oriana, but even this cannot equal the Scotch ballad of a 
nameless singer in pathetic interest. 

7. Burd = burde — maid. 



SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

(cm. 1579— cm. 1660.) 
EDMUND SPENSER 



21. Edmund Spenser, b. London 1552 and d. London 1599, 
His first important work, The She/pherds Calendar, 1579 
stands at the beginning of a great epoch in English i)oetry 
The first three books of The Faerie Qveene were published in 
1590, and three additional books in 1596. Spenser follows 
Chaucer in the chronological succession of the greater English 
poets. He was born about twelve years before Shakespeare ; 
he made his mark on English poetry about ten years before 
Shakespeare began his work; and he died about nine years be- 
fore the birth of Milton. 

THE FAERIE QUEENE. 

The Faerie Queene, Spenser's longest and greatest work, 
bears a general resemblance to the romantic epics of Tasbo and 
Ariosto. It differs from its Italian models, however, in the 
elevation of its tone and in the definiteness and importance of 
its moral purpose. It is not merely a romance, it is a relig- 
ious or spiritual allegory. Its object is to aid in the fornjation 
of noble character, — "to fashion a gentleman or noble person, 
in virtuous and gentle discipline," — by presenting the triumph 
of chivalric ideals of manhood over sin. Spenser accordingly 
takes the twelve "moral virtues" which he conceives to be 
the essential elements in the cliaracter of a true knight, or 
Christian gentleman, representing each virtue by a knight 
who is made "the patron and defender of the same, in whose 
actions and feates of amies and chivalry the operations of that 
virtue wliereof he is the protector 'are expressed,' and the 
vices that oppose themselves against the same are beaten down 
and overcome." One book was to have been devoted to each 
of the twelve virtues, but only six were completed. These six 
treat respectively of Holiness, Temperance, Chastity, Friend- 
ship, Justice, and Courtesy. Each complete book is composed 
of twelve cantos, each canto containing from thirty-five to 

584 



^ 



EDMUND SPEKSER 585 

sixty nine-line stanzas. There are also some fragmentary 
cantos, which api)eared after Spenser's death. Spenser hoped 
to add a second part, consisting likewise of twelve books, 
which should treat of the twelve public or " politick " virtues, 
i.e. those of a man in his relation to the state. 

The Selections here given are from the first and second books, 
and are so arranged that they can be read and nnderstood as a 
continuous narrative. That the underlying, or alhjgorical, 
meaning of the story may become i)lain, a few points should be 
grasped at the outset and kept in mind. The first book shows 
us the perils which "enfold" Holiness, or "the righteous 
man," who is brought before us in the person of the Red-Cross 
Knight. This knight may be further, as llallam holds, " the 
militant Christian, "or perliaps England, or the i^eformed Eng- 
land of Elizabeth's time, or— as Dean Church suggests — "the 
commonalty of England." However this may be, the Knight, 
or Holin(iSS, is shown to us as the proper mate and chamjnon 
of Una, or Truth, but beguiled and deceived by the wiles of 
Duessn, or Falsehood. Further, we are to understand that 
U7ia is not only truth, but religious truth, especially as it is 
embodied in the Church of England, and that simihirly 
Duessa is not only error, but thosc^ espiicial errors with which 
(as Spenser believed) the Church of Rome was identified. 
Briefly the subject of the book may then bo said to ])e Right- 
eousness, incomplete and misltid if separated from Religion, 
betrayed by Error and ultimately restored by being reunited 
to the true Church. (See Bk. I. Cant. VIII. 1.) 

"The second book. Of Temperance " (in the words of Dean 
(Uiurch,) "represents the internal conquests of self-mastery, 
the conquests of a man over his passions, his violence, his covet- 
ousness, his ambition, his despair, his sensuality." (See Life of 
Spenser, E. M. L. series, 125-6.) 'JMie first book thus deals 
mainly with faith, or religion, the second with practice, or 
morality, the outcome, or practical result, of religious belief in 
the struggle vv^ith the World, the Flesh, and the Devil. The two 
together thus contain, as Dean Kitchin observes, "the sub- 
stance of man's faith and duty." (See Kitchin's ed. Faerie 
Qneene, Bk. II., Introd.) The selections given in the text deal 
with the struggle with two out of these three foes ; viz., the 
struggle with Mammon, or the world, and the struggle with 
the Flesh, or the seductions of idle pleasures and self-indul- 
gence. 

1. Book I. {Introductory Stanzas.)— Lo I the man, etc. An 
allusion to Spenser's first important work, The Shepherds Ca- 
lendar, a pastoral, 1579. Tlie lines follow closely the oi)ening 
of Vergils iEnead, " Ille ego qui quondam," e-Xc. — 7. Areeds = di- 
rects, coun.sels. — 10. holy virgin, etc. The muse Clio. Why 



586 SPENSER TO DRY DEN 

is slie especially invoked? — 13. Scryme = a box or case for 
keeping books. (See Liit. scrimium.) — 14. Fayrest Tanaquill. 
From Bk. II. C. X. 76, it is evident that Spenser refers to 
Queen Elizabeth under the name of Tanaquill. What induced 
Spenser to choose this name for the queen is uncertain. 
Kitchin and others assert that Tanaquill was a British prin- 
cess, but I have been unable to find on what ground. Mr. J. 
B. Fletcher, Harvard, has kindly furnished me the following 
suggestion. He thinks it not improbable tl at Spenser may 
have had Tanaquill, the wife of 2\irquinius Priscus, in 
mind. " Spenser the humanist,'' he says, "might not impos- 
sibly have thought to flatter the English queen by an associa- 
tion with the Roman one, especially when the peculiar emi- 
nence and influence of lanaqmL is remeujbered." 

22. — 19. Imps of highest Jove = Cupid, or Eros. Imp 
(Lat. impotus = a graft) was formerly used in a good sense, 
and meant simply child, or scion. (Cf. Shaks. Ben. IV. 
IV. 1.) The word is found in the sense of child in some early 
English epitaphs. There are coi,flicting accounts of Cupid's 
parentage in classical mythology. Two distinct mythical 
accounts are here referred to; according to one he was the son 
of Jove, according to another of ^'enus, 1 ut no version makes 
him the child of Jove and Venus.— 28, Heben = ebony. — 25. 
Mart = Mars.— 34. Type of thine = Una, the type or image of 
his "Godesse heavenly bright," Queen Elizabeth, as well as 
of Truth. 

23. Canto I. — 44. lolly = gallant, handsome. (0. F. 
jolL) There^is nothing here of the modern use, as we are told 
later that the knight's bearing was " solemne sad."— 54. ydrad 
= dreaded, (y here a later form of ye, the prefix in M. E. of 
the past part.— 56. Greatest Glorianna : Queen Elizabeth. 
Spenser says in the explanatory letter to Raleigh: "In that 
Faerie Queene I mean Glory in my general intention, but in 
my particular I conceive the most excellent and glorious 
person of our soveraine the Queen."— 60. Earne = yearn. — 63. 
A dragon, i.e. Error, or more particularly the fabe doctrines 
of the Romish Church which the Red-Cross Knight, or Re- 
formed England, must combat. —64. A lovely lady, i.e. Una, 
or Truth, which is one, or single, in contrast to Duessa, False- 
hood, or Doubleness. Una is also, in a more definite sense, 
Truth as embodied in the true Church, once supreme from East 
to "West (see Bk. I. C. I. st. v.), but now " forwasted " by errors. 

24. — 83. A dwarfe— supposed by some to represent common 
sense or prudence. (See Blackwood's Mag., Nov. 1834.) The 
explanation is not very satisfactory. — 92. A shadie grove = the 
thick wood of Error, into which the heavenly light of the stars 
cannot penetrate. 



EDMUND SPENSER 587 

25. — 105. The sayling pine = "the pine whence sailing 
ships are mude." Kitchin. — 118. Sallow for the mill. I am 
indebted to Mr. J. B. Fletcher for the following explanation: 
"The allusion here may be as follows. Sallow — the Salix 
cinerea and caprea — has been recognized almost from the in- 
vention of gunpowder to the present day as the best "char- 
coal" wood for gunpowder. In 1414, Henry V. ordered 
'twenty pipes of powder made of willow charcoal.'" Spenser 
has just referred to the willow in general, he then goes on to 
speak of a particular species of willow, the sallow, and of its 
most important use. —117. The carver holme, the holly, which 
is especially fit for carving. 

27.— 152. Read = rede, advice, counsel.— 245. To welke = 
to fade. (M. E. welken.) 

28.-257. Lin = cease. (M. E. linnen, A. S. Imnan, Sc. 
blin.) 

29.-391. Plutoes griesly dame. Proserpina had both a 
creative and a destroying power. As the daughter of Demeter 
we think of her in the first, and as the wife of Pluto and queen 
of Erebus, in the seoond capacity She is here called griesly 
or terrible, because the poet has the dark and death-dealing 
side of her function in mind.— 395. Great Gorgon, i.e. Demo- 
gorgon, a mysterious divinity, associated with darkness and 
the under world, quite distinct from the Gorgon or Medusa 
of classical mythology. He reappears in Faerie Queene, IV. 
II., is introduced into Milton's Paradise Lost, II. 964, and into 
Shelley's Prometheus Unbound. 

30.— 415. Double gates. Spenser here follows Homer, Od. 
XIX. 564, and Vergil, ^n. VI. 894. According to the idea of 
these poets, true dreams were supposed to pass through a gate 
of horn, false dreams through one of ivory. The second gate 
is here spoken of as "overcast" with silver; horn was prob- 
ably selected by Homer because it was a translucent substance 
through which actual things beyond could be seen, if but 
dimly. Cf. Wra. Watson's poem "The Dream of Man." 

31,-444. Hecate, a powerful female divinity supposed to 
have been introduced into the Greek from an earlier mythology. 
Like Demogorgon she is associated with night or darkness and 
the nether world. She presides over magic, phantoms, and 
nocturnal ceremonies, hence Shakespeare appropriately makes 
her the mistress of the witches in Macbeth.— 447. Archimago, 
by whom Spenser means hypocrisy {Arch = chief,^ Gr. apx, 
and Lat. imago — image, form, semblance): an allusion to this 
chief dissembler's poWer of assuming various guises in order 
to deceive. Spenser also connects him with the Romish 
Church. ' He mav be intended," says Kitchin, " either for the 
Pope, or the Spanish King (Philip II.), or for the general spirit 



588 SPENSER TO DRYDEK 



of lying and false religion," He is first introduced in Cant. 
I. XXIX. as " an aged sire "; see connecting argument on p. 28. 

33.-3. (Canto III.) Then = than.— 14. True as touch. 
Touch here probably used for touchstone, as in Shakespeare's 
RicJi. III. IV. 2: " Now do I play the touch, to try," etc. The 
touchstone used to test the purity of precious metals came to 
symbolize the power to tell the false from the true. 

21. Preace = press, a throng. 

BOOK II. 

40. Canto VI. —104. Gondelay = gondola. 109-126. 
Note the formal and artificial character of the description. 
The second line of the XII. stanza is, however, quoted by 
Lowell as one of the three which " best characterize the feel- 
ing that Spenser's poetry gives us." (See essay on Spenser.) 

41, 42. — 136-162. This song is a good example of the 
smoothness and sweetness of Spenser's verse. It appears to 
imitate Tasso's Oerusalemme Ltberata, Bk. XIV. 62; but if an 
imitation, it is superior to the original. Tennyson has followed 
precisely the same line of thought in the Lotus Eaters, Stz, 
II and III. Spenser's idea that all good things are given to be 
enjoyed is a frequent one with the poets. Cf, Milton's Gomus, 
1. 706 ; Sonnet I of Shakespeare, etc. 

BOOK II. 

43, 44. Canto VII.— 19-36. Mammon, here introduced 
as the "God of the world and worldlings," was not a 
heathen divinity, but, as in the New Testanient, a simple per- 
sonification of money or worldly ambition, from the Syrinc 
word for riches. Cf. Si. Mark, vi. 24, and Par. Lost, I. 678 
et seq. — 40. Of Mulciber's, etc. Mulciber was the name given 
to Vulcan (Lat. Mulceo, to soften), as the smoother, or softener, 
of metals by fire. Milton {Par. Lost, I. 740) identifies him 
with Mammon. Of, here used in the sense of by, as is frequent 
in the Bible and in Shakespeare ; " and should have been 
killed of them." Acts, xxiii. 27. 

45.— 70. Swink = to toil. In Chaucer a swinker is a work- 
man or ploughman. 

46. — 91. Weet = know. A. S icitan, to know. 

48.— 194. Payne, "not suffering, but Poena, the avenging 
punishing deity." (Kitchin.) — 199-225. This description, 
marked by intensity, compression, and power, may be compared 
with a similar passage in Vergil's ^n. VI. 273, and with the 
fine ])ersonifications of Sorrow, Remorse of Conscience, and the 
rest in the Introduction to Sackville's Mirror for Magistrates. 

49.— 213. Celeno, one of the Harpies ; filthy, vulture-like 



t 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 589 

creatures, with bead and breast of a woman. Celaeno is espe- 
cially mentioned by Vergil {^n. III. 345).— 232. For next to 
Death is Sleep, etc. Somims (sleep) and Mors (deatb) were 
tbe sons of JSlox (nigbt). The idea is a favorite one witb tbe 
classic and tbe Englisb poets. Cf. Vergil, ^n. VI. 278, and 
Sbelley's Queen Mab, "Deatb and bis brotber Sleep." Sack- 
ville calls sleep "tbe cousin of Deatb"; B. Griffen, "brotber 
to quiet deatb," etc. 

50. — 204. Breaches == stalactites. — 268. Arachne = spider. 
Aracbne was a skilful needlewoman cbanged into a spider by 
Minerva. 

52.— 321. Culver = dove. Lat. Columha. 

THE COURTIER. 

(Extract from "Mother Hubbard's Tale.") 

53. Tlie poem from wbicb tbis extract is taken first appeared 
in a miscellaneous collection entitled Compl(imtii{lh%\). It was 
in tbis year tbat Spenser returned to bis borne in Ireland, after 
a stay in London of some two years. Tbis visit to England bad 
been made under tbe encouragement of Raleigb, wbo, Spenser 
tells us, secured bis admission to tbe queen. Tbe ])()et gives 
us an account of tbis visit in bis Colin Clovt'sCoDie Home Again 
(pub. 1596), but in the lines bere given we bave probably an 
insigbt into tbe real mood in wbicb be left tbe court. For 
tbis, as well as for tbe side-ligbt it tbrows on Elizabetb as a 
patron of letters, and for its satiric force, tbe passage is a 
memoiable one. 

SONNETS. 

64, 55. XL and LXXV. Tbese are from a series of 
eigbty-eigbt sonnets Qi\\\i\e& ArmreUi, published together witb 
tbe splendid Epithalajnion, or marriage hymn, in 1595. Tbe 
sonnets commemorate Spenser's courtship of, and tbe Epiiha- 
lamion bis marriage to, a certain Irisb country girl wbose 
Christian name was certainly Elizabetb, and wbose last name 
(according to Qrosart) was Boyle. Tbe marriage was celebrated 
June 11, 1595. 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 

(THE ELIZABETHAN SONNET) 

56. The Elizabethan Age was notably a great lyric as well 
as a great dramatic period. The number of songs and son- 
nets produced was extraordinarily large, and the quality of 
these productions was on the whole exceedingly high. 
Numerous poetical Miscellanies, or collections of short poems 
by various authors, were put out by enterprising printers during 
the latter half of the sixteenth and the opening years of the 
seventeenth century. The earliest of these, commonly known 
as Tottel's Miscellany, appeared in 1557, the year before Eliza- 
beth's accession, and EnglancVs Helicon, one of the most 
famous of the later collections, was published in 1600, or 
about three years before the close of her reign. Besides the 
Miscellanies there were a number of Song-hooks, or books 
containing the music as well as the words of the songs. The 
first of these, Byrd's Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets of Sadness 
and Piety, was published in 1588. No less than fifty-five such 
Song-hooks are definitel}'' known to have been published be- 
tween that date and 1(324. To the lyrics of the Miscellanies 
and the Song-hooks we must add the innumerable charming 
songs which are embedded in the plays and romances of the time. 
Shakespeare's plays are, as we know, full of such songs, as 
are the plays of Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, and 
many others. Beside this extraordinary chorus of song, we 
must place the equally notable productiveness of the time in 
the writing of sonnets. The earliest English sonnets, those of 
Wyatt and Surrey, appeared in Tottel's Miscellany in 1557, but 
it was not until about thirty years later that the sonnet became 
a widely popular poetic form. From about 1591, the year of 
the appearance of Sidney's Astrophel and Stella, and of the 
earliest form of Daniels Delia, Sonnet- sequences, or books 
composed of a series of scninets, began to be much in favor. 
Mr. Saintsbury remarks that "Between 1593 and 1596 there 
were published more than a dozen collections, chiefly or 
wholly of sonnets, and almost all bearing the name of a single 
person, in whose lionor they were supposed to be composed." 

590 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 591 



{Hist. Eliz. Lit., p. 97.) Among these sonnet-sequeuces are 
those of Sidney, Drayton. Spenser, and Shakespeare. To 
gain any notion of the wealth of this time in lyrical verse, in 
songs or sonnets, the student should consult the various 
collections of Mr. A. H. Bullen, Prof. Schelling's Elizabethan 
Lyrics, and some of the many collections of English sonnets. 
Only a few familiar examples can be here given. 

LYLY. 

John Lylt (1553-4-1606) was prominent as a romance, 
wjiter and dramatist, and exercised a very considerable 
influence upon contemporary literature and the taste of the 
court. He gained immediate popularity by his two romances, 
Euphues, the Anatomy of Wit (1579) and its sequel, Euphues 
and his England (1580). Tliese romances originated in 
England that peculiar style of expression known as euphu- 
ism ; a style which Scott h;is unsuccessfully attempted to 
reproduce in the character of Sir Piercie Shafton. In the 
drama, Lyly is among the immediate predecessors of Shake- 
speare, but from about 1590 his popularity declined. His 
works are now comparatively little read, but the grace and 
fancy of the lines on Cupid and Campaspe have made them 
almost universally known. 

GREENE. 

Robert Greene (1560-1592), like Lyly, one of the imme- 
diate dramatic predecessors of Shakespeare, was a man of 
profligate and unhappy life. The fact that he lived friendless, 
as he tells us. "except it were in a fewe ale houses," and died 
miserably, gives a peculiar pathos to this expression of his 
longing for content. 

CONTENT. 

7. Homely = homelike. 

57. — 9, The mean that grees = the middle state, or modest 
circumstances. This best agrees, etc. 

MARLOWE. 

Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593) was the greatest of 
Shakespeare's forerunners in the drama. He wrote poems, 
and made translations from the classics, but the selection here 
given is his one notable lyric. This, as Prof. Schelling 
points out, is remarkable when we consider his marvellous 
passion and the suprising lyrical excellence of certain passages 



592 SPENSEll TO DRYD'EN 



iu his plays. The poem called forth a number of answers ; 
cue of the best known of which is given on p. 67. 

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 

3. Groves : here a dissyllable. 

58. — 22. Morning should here be accented on the second 
syllable. 

DEKKER. 

Thomas Dekker (1570?-1640?) was a busy playwright and 
pamphleteer. He began to write towards the closo" of the 
reign of Elizabeth, and continued his literary activity during 
that of her successor. In some cases he collaborated with 
Middk'ton, Heywood, and other well-known dramatists, and 
his services were apparently in great request. (See Diyden's 
Mac Flecknoe, 1. 87 and n ) Dekker so excelled in portraying 
the life of the London about him that he has been called the 
Dickens of the Elizabethan time. Constant!}' involved iu 
money difficulties, he seems, like Greene, to have known 
little of that Sweet Content of which he sang. Dekker's 
authorship of this song seems to be generally conceded, 
although it is taken from a play {The Pleasant Comedie of 
Patient Orisscl, 1599) which he wrote in conjunction with 
two other dramatists. It is among the most charming and 
famous of Elizabethan lyrics. 

HEYWOOD. 

59. Thomas Heywood (1581P-1640?), dramatist and mis- 
cellaneous writer, was probably the most voluminous author 
of a prolific age. He wrote a poem in seventeen cantos, 
numerous prose works, and boasted some years before the 
close of his labors that he was author or part author of two 
hundred and twenty plays. 

CAMPION. 
TO LE8BIA. 

60. Thomas Campion (d. 1619), a physician, poet, and 
musician of the reigns of Elizabeth and James I,, appears to 
liave won considerable contemporary'' fame. After a long 
interval of neglect, his reputation as a lyric poet and the 
interest iu his work have recently revived. He wrote masques, 
Latin poems, a prose work — Observations in the Art of English 
Poesy, etc., but is chiefly remembered by sundry exquisite 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 593 



songs scattered througli liis various books of airs. lu tlie 
verses To Lesbia he follows and iu part translates tbe ode 
of Catullus Vivamus, mea Lesbia, aique amemus. {Gar. V). 
His works have beeu collected and edited by A. H. Bullen, 
Chiswick Press, Loudon, 1889. 

THE ARMOUR OF INNOCENCE. 

This poem, which appears iu The First Book of Airs (1601), 
was reprinted iu the Second {cir. 1618) with some textual 
variations. It is one of the many modulations of the noble 
theme of Horace's Integer Vitce {Odes, Bk. I. Car. XXIII.), 
but is free from the weak close which detracts from that 
splendid poem. The reader cau readily bring together many 
parallel poems and passages. Bullen reminds us that the 
poem has been ascribed to Bacon, but entertains no doubt that 
Campion was its author. 

FORTUNATI NIMIUM. 

61. Fortunati nimium = happy beyond measure. for- 
iunatos nimium sua si bona norint Agricolas ! (Vergil, Oeorg. 
11.458.) 

62. — 8 Silver penny. Before the time of James I., or 
about 1609, English pennies were of silver. In that reign 
copper pennies were first struck. — 9. Nappy ale, strong or fine 
ale. Nappy is often made to stnud for cde, as in Burns' 
Ttva Dogs " 'twal penny worth o' nappy!" and n. to Tam 
O'Shanier, 5. 19. Tutties = nosegays, posies. (Prov. Eng.) 
See Cent. Diet. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 

63. Beaumont and Fletcher. These two men, who have 
been called " the double star of our poetical firmament," wrote 
in collaboration during the closing years of the sixteenth and 
early part of the seventeenth century some of the most justly 
admired plays of the period. They probably afford the most 
remarkable example of joint authorship in the history of the 
literature. They stand admittedly iu the front rank of the 
Elizabethan song-writers. Swinburne declares that in their 
compositions of this order they " equal all their compeers 
whom they do not excel." JoJifi Fletcher was born 1579 and 
died in 1625 ; Francis Beaumont was probably born in 1585 
and died in 1616, the year of the death of Shakespeare. Tl;e 
best of their work is supposed to have been produced between 
1608 and 1611. 



594 SPElfSER TO DRYDElf 



SONG OF THE PRIEST OF PAN. 

32. Fall in numbers = fall with a musical or rhythmical 
cadeuce. The verb " fall," says Mason, refers uot to "silence," 
but to "slumbers," since "silence" falling in numbers would 
be "absolute nonsense." And soft silence = icith soft silence. 

SONG TO PAN. 

64. — 2. Virtues and ye powers. Here of course the 
naiads or water-nymphs. Milton has the same conjunction, 
when he speaks of "Princedoms, Virtues, Powers" {Par. 
Lost, Bk. V. 603), thus making the virtues part of the 
angelic hierarchy. 

ON THE LIFE OF MAN. 

65. Although this poem is included in the Poems of Francis 
Beaumont, it is also attributed to Bishop Henry King, and 
appears in his poems under the title Sic Vita. The lines have 
also been claimed for others, but their authorship has never 
been satisfactorily determined. For further information see 
Hannah's Ed. of King's Poems. — 7. Borrowed light, Man will 
be required to repay at nightfall the light of life loaned him 
but for a day. — 8. To-night, instead of at night, is more 
forcible as suggesting the quick coming of death. 

ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

13. The bones of birth, the ashes or remains of those of high 
or royal lineage. 

WOTTON. 

THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. 

66. Sir Henry Wotton (1568-1639), the descendant of 
A Kentish family distinguished for its lack of self-seeking and 
its substantial public services, was a man of high character and 
cultivation. He was at one time secretary to the Earl of Essex, 
and he was engaged in diplomatic missions under James I. 
After twenty years of service he retired from public life (hav- 
ing obtained the Provostship of Eton College), "knowing 
experimentally," says Isaac Walton, "that the great blessing 
of sweet content was not to be found in multitudes of men or 
business." He wrote but little verse, and that but as iin ama- 
teur, but the uprightness, placidity, and elevation of his char- 
acter, and to some degree the traditional habit of his family, 
are well expressed in the familiar poein here giveo. 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 595 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH. (?) 

THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE 
SHEPHERD. 

67. (See n. to The Passionate Shepherd, supra.) The aulbor- 
ship of this poem is doubtful. On its first appearance in a 
complete form in England's Helicon (1600) it was signed with 
the initials W. R., and in The Complete Angler Q653) Isaac 
Walton quotes the poem and refers to it as "made bj Sir 
Walter Raleigh in bis younger dales." 

JONSON. 

68. Ben Jonson (1573-1637) was one of the greatest of the 
Elizabethan dramatists and, after the death of Shakespeare, 
the leading man of letters in England. His dramatic methods 
and ideals were different from those of Shakespeare, and as 
far back as the time of Thomas Fuller, Jonson's laborious 
learning and Shakespeare's native nimbleness of intellect have 
been contrasted. All the surrounding circumstances invest 
Jonson's tribute to Shakespeare with a peculiar interest ; and 
when we remember that the two poets represented different 
schools of dramatic art, the praise of Shakespeare's genius 
must be regarded as both unstinted and discriminating. 
Under it all lay a basis of genuine personal affection. "I 
loved the man," Jonson wrote of Shakespeare, "and do honor 
his memory on this side of idolatry as much as any," {Timber, 
or Discoveries, etc. ) 

TO THE MEMORY OF SHAKESPEARE. 

1. To draw no envy, etc. " While Ignorance, Affection, or 
Malice, by excessive, indiscriminate, or unjust praise, would 
be sure to provoke the detraction of envy, 

• These ways 

Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise '; 

for he could with full knowledge and strict impartiality award 
him the highest praise that could be expressed." (Pub. New 
Shaks. Soc, Ser. IV. 2. p. 151.)— 3. Ample = liberiil, lavish in 
tlie praise of.— 8. Seeliest ignorance = blindest ignorance. 
The verb to seel, which means to close up the eyes of, and 
hence to blind, was originally a term in falconry for the opera- 
tion of closing the eyes of a hawk, or other bird, by thread 
until it should become tractable. (Through O. F. from Lat. 
cilium = an eyelid, or eyelash. Cf. Macbeth, III. 2. 46.) — 



590 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

19. I will not lodge thee, etc. Chaucer, Spenser, and Beau- 
mont are buried near io each other in the Poets' Corner in 
Westminster Abbey. Proximity to the tomb of Chaucer, the 
first great English poet, was considered as a great honor. 
Spenser had been granted this in lo99, and Beaumont in 1615; 
a year hiter came the death of Sbakespeare. Shakespeare's 
claim to a place near the tombs of the three poets just men- 
tionel was put forth by a certain William Basse (or Bus) in his 
Epitaph on Shakespeare : 

"Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh 
To learned Chaucer ; and rare Beaumont, lie 
A little nearer Spenser, to make room 
For Shakespeare in your threefold fourfold tomb." 

Jonson's words are obviously in the nature of an answer to 
this passage. (See Pub. New Shaks. Soc, Ser. IV. 2. pp. 136 
and 147, and Stanley's Historical Memorials of Westminster 
Abbey, 269, 270.) 

09. — 27. Judgment were of years, i.e. one that would last, or 
go down to posterity. — 29. Thou didst our Lyly outshine, etc. 
We should be on our guard against assuming that we can gain 
from this poem any exact notion of Jonson's opinion of his 
contemporaries, as he wisely avoids all mention of poets then 
living. Fletcher, Chapman, Middleton, Dekker, Drayton, 
Donne, who might otherwise have been mentioned, are ex- 
cluded on this score if on no other. His obvious purpose is 
merely to allude incidentally to a few of Shakespeare's com- 
petitors by way of illustration. To get at his real feelings 
towards his fellows, consult Drummond's Notes of Ben Jon- 
son's Conversations, Shakespeare Soc. Publications, 1842. — 
30. Sporting Kyd. A satirical play upon the dramatist's name, 
since Thomas Kyd was anything but " sporting," being chiefly 
known as the author of tragedies of the most blood-curdling 
and bombastic character. The oft-quoted reference to Mar- 
lowe, on the other hand, is remarkably felicitous. — 31. And 
though thou hadst small Latin, etc. " The passage may be 
thus paraphrased: Even if thou hadst little scholarship ,_ I 
would not seek to honor thee as others have done Ovid, 
Plautus, Terence, etc., i e. by the names of the classical poets, 
but would rather invite them to witness how far thou dost 
outshine them." (Pub. New Shaks. Soc, Ser. IV. 2. 151.) — 
33. JEschylus, etc. The three Greek poets JEschylus, Sophocles. 
and Euripides (to name them in their proper chronological 
order) represent three stages in the development of the Greek 
tragic drama; so Pacuvius, Accius (or Aitius), and "him of 
Cordova" (or Seneca) stand in a similar manner for Roman 
tragedy-writing at successive epochs. The three Greek tra- 
gedians are among the greatest dramatists of the world; the 



1 



ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 597 

three Roman . uud especially tbe first two, are comparatively 
little knowu, and seem introduced rather to give a proper 
balance to the passage than because any one would really 
compare them with Shakespeare.— 36, 37. Buskin . .socks. 
The ancients are summoned to hear Shakespeare both as a 
trao-ic and a comic writer; the buskin, or shoe worn by Greek 
and Roman actors in tragedy, stands here for iragedy as the 
sock or shoe of comedians, stands for comedy. (See L Allegro 
1 132 aud n.). -55. Thy Art. This tribute to the art of 
Shakespeare, and to his care in composition, derives an added 
interest from the fact that such a view was unusual in Jonson s 
time and for long after. Milton inclined to the opposite opinion 
(see V Allegro, 1. 133 and n.). Pope expressed the same 
popular impression in the lines : 

" But Ot way failed to polish or refine, x ore x 

Aud fluent Shakespeare scarce eflfac d a line. {iLp. 1. -J(«.) 

Jonson himself, according to Drummond declared that 
Shakespeare "wanted [or lacked] arte.' Shakespeare cer- 
tainly wrote rapidly, and the impression seems to have been 
that he wrote carelessly. Jonson's own words outhis point 
should be compared with those of Pope and placed in contrast 
with the passage in the text : "I remember the Players have 
often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his 
writing (whatsoever he penn'd) hee never blotted out a line. 
My answer hath beene, would he had blotted a thousand, 
which they thought a malevolent speech." {limber; or Dis- 
coveries upon Men and Matter, etc.) 

JONSON'S SONGS. 

70. Jonson's character and genius are commonly de- 
scribed as "robust." "rugged," and ;' masculine yet his 
songs are frequently remarkable for their g. ace lightness, and 
delicacy. In this respect he is rightly regarded as the prede- 
cessor of Herrick and some of his lyric brethren. 

SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS. 

" Simplex munditiis"= plain, or unadorned, in thy neatness. 
The phrase is from Horace's famous and often- translated ode 
to Pyrrha {Odes, Lib. I. car. v.): 

" Cui flavam religas comana 
Simplex munditiis ? " 



598 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 



SHAKESPEARE'S SONGS. 

73. Shakespeare was born in 1564; came up to London to 
seek his fortune about 1587; began to write for the stage 
about 1588-90; ended his career about 1612-13, and died in 
1616. The greater part of his energy was given to the stage. — 
as actor, as part-owner of a theatre, and as playwright; but 
apart from his dramas he wrote two narrative poems and a 
series of sonnets. The songs scattered through his plays, 
while introduced for a dramatic purpose, and often intimately 
and artistically interwoven with the action, would alone give 
him an assured place among the poets of his time. Had he 
written nothing but these songs he would have survived as 
one of the leading lyric poets of a great song-writing age. 
No words of comment are needed on the songs here given. 
As Prof. Dowden says : " Of the exquisite songs scattered 
through Shakespeare's plays it is almost an impertinence to 
speak. If they do not make their own way, like the notes 
in the wildwood, no words will open the dull ear lo take 
them in." 

HARK, HARK, THE LARK. 

75. — 5. Mary-bud = marigold. 



ELIZABETHAN SONNETS 

(See " Elizabethan Songs and Lyrics," p. 590 supi^a.) 

SIDNEY. 

77. Sm Philip Sidney (1554-1586), the pattern of noble 
knighthood, whose name is forever linked with an act of 
self-sacrifice and compassion, was not only the courtier, the 
soldier, tbe gallant gentleman, loved by his nation as few 
men have been loved, and mourned as few men have been 
mourned; he was also a true poet and an accomplished man 
of letters. Although he died at thirty-two, he was a leading 
spirit in England's literary advance when the nation was 
feeling its way towards the period of its greatest triumphs. 
Sidney's Astrophel and Stella (1591), the first great sonnet- 
sequence in the literature (seep. 590 supra), marks an epocli in 
the growth of the sonnet in England. The series, which 
consists of 110 sonnets, records the poet's hopeless passion 
(whether real or assumed for poetic purposes is a matter of 
dispute) for Penelope Devereux, who was sister to the Earl 
of Essex and who became Lady Rich. 

SONNET XXXI. 

This is probably the best known of Sidney's sonnets. 
Wordsworth admired it suflSciently to use the two opening 
lines for the beginning of a sonnet written in 1806. 

DANIEL. 

78. Samuel Daniel (1562-1619), who gained the title of 
"the well-langufiged Daniel," while lacking in some of the 
qualities which make a popular poet, yet shows an elevation 
of feeling, depth of thought, and a scholarly taste. His 
sonnets to Delia, which appeared in his first known book of 
poems, contain some of his most familiar if not his finest 
work. 

599 



600 SPEKSEll TO DRYDEK 

DRAYTON. 

79. (For Drayton, see p. 601, n. on Agincourt.) 

DRUMMOND. 

79. William Dhummond (1558-1613), often spoken of as 
" Drummoud of Hawlboiuden," was a Scottish poet of noble 
birth, who passed a meditative and studious life sit his 
secluded and beautiful home near Edinburgh. His life was 
saddened by the death of the lady to whom he was engaged 
to be married, and his poetry is tinged by a gentle melan- 
choly. He is numbered with the followers of Spenser, but he 
shows — as in his sonnets— such a sympathy with the Italian 
models that he has been styled " the Scottish Petrarch." 

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS. 

80. The sounets of Shakespeare were first published in 
1609. The exact date of their composition is not known, but 
they were probably composed at intervals (as was Tennyson's 
In Mejnoriam) during a number of years. The earliest men- 
tion of them is found in the Palladis Tamia of Francis Meres 
(1678), who speaks of Shakespeare's " sugred sonnets among 
his private friends'." Two of the series (sounets 138 and 144) 
appeared in Tie Passionate Pilgrim (15i)9), a poetical miscellany. 
Dowden believes them all to have been written "somewhere 
between 1595 and 1605." The entire series consists of 154 
sonnets. Critics are still divided concerning the interpretation 
of the series as a whole, but fortunately ail theories of inter- 
preta'ion are powerless to mar our enjoyment of the sonnets 
as single poems. (See Dowden's Shakespeare Primer and his 
edition of Shakespeare's Sonnets.) 

DONNE. 

83. (For Donne, see " Seventeenth century Lyrists," p. 
603.) 

DRAYTON. 

83. Michael Drayton (1563-1631) was one of the most 
voluminous poets of a time dislingiiished by the extraordinary 
productiveness of its writers. His liuge descriptive and his- 



I 



ELIZABETHAK SONHETS 601 

toi-ical poems, the Baron's Wars, the PolyolMon, and tlie 
rest are uow but little read, but one of bis souuets (see p <9), 
rauks with the linest iu the language, while his ballad on 
Aqincourt and his Nymphidia are not only famous, but are 
still comparatively familiar. Mr. Saintsbury says of the 
former- "The Agincourt ballad is quite at the head ot its 
own class of verse in England— Campbell's two masterpieces 
(dven here on pp. 376, 379j and the present poet laureate's 
direct imitation iu the 'Six Hundred,' fulliug, the first some- 
what, and the last considerably, short of it. The sweep ot the 
metre, the martial glow of the sentiment, and the skill with 
which the names are wrought into the verse, are altogether 
beyond praise." {Hist. Elu. Lit. U\.) The impetuous met- 
rical rush of the poem, one of its chief merits, has also been 
imitated by Longfellow in Tke Skeleton in Armour. 

AGINCOURT. 

84 — Camber -Britans. Cambria was the Roman name for 
Wales; hence by Camber- (or Gambro-) Britans is meant the 
Britons who were in Wales, as distinguished from those of 
the same race in Cornwall or elsewhere. The Cambro-Bntaus 
appear to have been especially noted for their skill in chanting 
poems to the harp, while the poetic genius of the British in 
Cornwall was shown more particularly in the dramatic form. 
Tiie concluding part of the dedication has consequently an 
especial appropriateness. . . -, . , 

•'5 And turning to his men, etc. Henry is said to have 
exclaimed before the battle that he "did not wish a single 
man more." (See Green's Hist. Eng. People, 1. 542.) Shakes- 
peare makes effective use of this incident. Hen. V.l\.6: 
"God's will ! I pray thee wish not one man more, ' ttc. 

j^5 _49 The Duke of York, i.e. Edward, second Duke of 
York,* and grandson of King Edward IH. The account in 
the text is here substantially accurate. York comnianded the 
right wing, and was a little in advance of the line, Henry the 
centre, and Lord Camoys the left. (See Shakespeare s Henry 
V. IV 'S, when York asks and receives the right of " lead- 
ing " tiie " vaward."— 52. Henchmen = followers. (See Skeat's 
Eiumol. Dict.)-m. Noble Erpingham, i.e. Sir Thomas Erp- 
ingham, "who threw up his truncheon as a signal to the 
English forces, who lay in ambush, to advance." ^ 

86.-82 Bilbo ws = swords. From Bilboa, a Spanish 
town famous for its blades. The word also means /«?^g^"f. an 
especial kind of fetter being also manufactured at I3,iboa. 
'Yha word is used in both senses by Shakespeare. -89. When 
now that noble king, etc. Here again the poet keeps pretty 



602 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 



close to historic fact. Henry was actually forced to bis knees, 
by a stroke from tbe Duke d'AleD9ou, "so violent tbat it 
denied bis helmet." (See Church's Henry V., p. 81.)— 
97. Gloster, i.e. Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, younger 
brother of the king. Thomas, Duke of Clarence, alluded to 
here as Clarence, was also the king's brother. 

87. — 113. Crispin day is on the 25th of October. Cf. 
Shakespeare's Henry V. IV. 3. "This day is called the feast 
of Crispian," etc. 



% 



THE SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY- 
LYRISTS 



88. The selections in this group have been chosen pri- 
marily for their intrinsic interest, and secondarily because ihey 
illustrate the nature and course of English verse in its lighter 
and shorter forms, between the closing years of the Eliza- 
bethan period and the new era of the Restoration. The age 
of Shakespeare and Spenser is very far removed in spirit from 
that of Dryden and Pope, These intermediate poets for the 
most part show us the way by which English poetry passed 
from the earlier to the later time. John Bonne, the first poet 
of the group, is, from one aspect, really an Elizabethan, since 
he was born in the same year as Ben Jouson and died six years 
before him. While Edmund Waller (1605-1687), the last poet 
on the list, lived twenty-seven years after the Restoration, and 
was farther removed from the Elizabethans than the earlier 
poets of the group, being related rather to Dryden and poets 
of the later day. (For account of this period see Masson's 
Life and Times of Milton, Vol. I. Ch. VI., and The Age of 
Milton, by J. H. B. Masteimau.) Many of these poets affected 
a fantastic style, full of far-fetched images or " conceits," 
Their peculiarities are thus described by Dr. Samuel Johnson : 
" The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence to- 
gether ; nature and art are ransacked for illustrations, com- 
parisons and allusions ; their learning instructs and their 
subtilty surprises, but the reader commonly thinks his im- 
provement dearly bought, and, though he sometimes admires, 
is seldom pleased." ("Cowley," in Lives of the Poets.) The 
founder of this school (or at least the poet most influential in 
promoting this fashion) was Dr. John Donne (1573-1631), 
who, born of Roman Catholic parentage, became a clergyman 
of the Church of England, and at last Dean of St. Paul's 
Cathedral. With Donne may be associated his friend George 
Herbert (1573-1633), also a clergyman, who wrote some of the 
best religious poetry in the language, and two other writers of 
sacred poems, Richard Grashaw (1613-1650 ?) and Henry 

603 



604 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 



Vaughan (1622-1695 ?), who may be classed as Herbert's follow- 
ers. Abraham Coicley (1618-1607), a disciple of Donue, was a 
famous poet of his day. and Oeorge Wither (1588-1667), a satir- 
ist, Puritaa, and follower of Cromwell, were other religious 
poets of the time. James Shirhy (1596-1667), whose spleudid 
Dirge (p. 108) may be appropriately compaied with Beau- 
mont's Westminster Abbey (p. 65), an imitative rather than an 
original poet, represented the traditions of the Elizabethan 
drama and carried them on into tlie Restoration lime. In 
auotlier group stand the Cavalier Lyrists, light, gay, and 
amorous, Richard Lovelace (1618-1658), Thomas Carew (1598- 
1639 ?), Sir John Suckling (1609-1641), and the London wit and 
Devonshire clergyman, Robert Herrick (1591-1674). 

DONNE. 

ELEGY ON LADY MARKHAM. 

Lady Markham died May 4, 1609. She was the daughter 
of Sir James Harrington, and wife of Sir Anthony Markham. 
Francis Beaumont also wrote an elegy to her. This poem, 
which illustrates the subtle, over elaborated quality of Donne's 
work, shows also the extraordinary, if occasional, poetic 
be.iuty which sometimes accompanies it. Note, for example, 
the fineness of description displayed in the allusion to the re- 
tiring tide leaving "embroidered works upon the sand," and 
the beautiful definition of tears as " the common stairs of men," 
by which tliey climb to heaven. 

81>. — 28. Elixir. — The sense appears to be that the grave 
as a limbec (or alembic) shall transform her, or distill her sub- 
stance, into something more precious, as buried clay is 
changed to porcelain. So that, when God annuls the world 
by fire to recompense it, her soul shall animate flesh of that 
spiritual quality which He shall then make and name the 
Elixir, or transforming agency of all things. (See u. on 
The Elixir, p. 606.) 

A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING. 

1)0. These verses are quoted with especial commendation 
by Isaac Walton in his life of Donue. Donne wrote them to 
his wife when lie was obliged to leave her to accompany an 
embassy to the French Court. His wife was reluctant to let 
him go, as " her divining soul boded her some ill in his ab- 
sence." Walton, after relating the story, adds of the verses: 
"And I beg leave to tell that I have heard some writers, 
learned both in langu iges and poetry, say that none of the 



I 



THE SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY LYRISTS 605 



Greek or Ltilin poets did ever equal them." (See Walton's 
Lives, "Donne,") Grosart remarks: "The metaphor of the 
compasses iu the Valediction only so daring au imaginatc^r 
as Doune would Lave attempted ; and the out-of-the-wayness 
of it is not more noticeable than the imaginativeness which 
gloritied it." He quotes Coleiidge as declaring that " nothing 
was ever more admirably made out than the figure of the com- 
pass." ("Donne's Poems" in Fuller's Worthies Lib., Vol. 
II. p. xl.) 

SONG, SWEETEST LOVE. 

91. This song, while by no means the best, is among the 
most generally known of Donne's short poems. The reader, 
unless he is of the inner circle of Donne's admirers, will 
probably be more impressed by its singularity than its beauty. 
Saintsbury thinks that it was inspired by the same occasion 
as the Valediction and written at the same time. He quotes 
the two opening lines of the last stanza, and thinks that they 
should be taken iu conjunction with the forebodings felt by 
Donne's wife at his departure for France. (See A Valediction, 
etc., supra.) 

92. — 84. Forethink me any ill — anticipate any ill for me, 
as Destiny may fulfil your presentiment. 

A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER. 

93. This poem is also quoted by Walton, who after saying 
that Donne "in his penitential years" regretted some of the 
lighter verses of his youth, adds that he did not therefore for- 
sake heavenly poetry in his age, but that " even on his former 
sick-bed he wrote this heavenly hymn, expressing the great 
joy that then possessed his soul in the assurance of God's 
favor to him when he composed it." He tells us further that 
Donne caused the Hymn "to be set to a most grand and 
solemn tune, and to be often sung to the organ by the 
choristers of St. Paul's Church, iu his OM'n hearing, especially 
at Evening Service." 

HERBERT. 

THE TEMPLE. 

The Temple, from which the selections here given are taken, 
is the collection of poems on M'hich Herbert's fame chiefly 
rests. Walton tells us how Herbert in his last illness sent the 
MS. to his friend Mr. Nicholas Ferrar, of the so-called Protes- 
tant Nunnery at Little Gidding, saying that it contained "a 



606 SPEITSER TO DRYDEN 



picture of the many spiritual subjects that have passed 
betwixt God and my soul," and requesting him to publish it 
or not as he saw fit. It appeared in 1633 shortly after Her- 
bert's death, and at once took and retained a high place. The 
poem entitled 2Vie Collar, with its admirable force, truth, and 
passion, seems to point to one of those "spiritual conflicts" 
from which even the saintly Herbert tells us be was not exempt. 

VERTUE. 

94. — 5. Angrie and brave. Angry = red, the color of the 
face of one flushed with passion. Brave = splendid, gaudy, 
etc. 

THE ELIXIR. 

95. An Elixir was, in alchemy, a substance supposed to 
possess the power of transmuting the baser metals into gold. 
Chaucer speaks of it as identical with the Philosopher s Stone, 
and the Great Elixir (or Philosopher's Stone) was also called 
the redtincture (see n. on 1. 15). — 1-8. Teach me, etc. The sense 
is: Teach me to see Thee in all things, and by making Thee 
first in every action thus give it his (i.e. its) perfection. In 
Herbert's time his was still commonly used where we should 
use its. (See Craik's English of Shakespeare, Rolfe's Ed. 
§ 54). — 15. With his tincture. Tincture being here, as hns been 
said, the same as the Elixir, the sense is. that there is no 
action however mean which, imbued or purified by his (i.e. its) 
tincture /or Thy sake, will not grow bright. To do a thing as 
for Thee is to transmute the action from base metal to fine 
gold, and the talisman for Thy sake is the magic tincture or 
Elixir w^hich can effect the change. (This passage is differently 
explained by Grosart, see his ed. of Herbert, I. 313.) — 24 Told 
= counted. Cannot be counted less. 



VAUGHAN. 

97. In his love of nature, and his sense of the holiness of 
childhood with its mysterious nearness to the divine. Vaughan 
is the precursor of Wordsworth The substantial identity 
between the fundamental thought in The Eetreate and that of 
Wordsworth's Ode on the Intimations of Immortality (p. 318) has 
been often pointed out. and some have even claimed that the 
great ode was consciously based upon the earlier poem. For 
this, however, there seems to be no better authority than con- 
jecture. The resemblances are undoubtedly striking. 



THE SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY LYRISTS 607 

COWLEY. 

A VOTE. 

101. The poem from which these verses are taken first 
appeared in the second edition of Cowle\ "s volume of juvenile 
verse entitled Poetical Blossoms (1636). The entire poem con- 
sisted of eleven stanzas, of which the hist three are given here. 
These stanzas were quoted by Cowley with some trifling 
changes in his essay Of Myself. He there alludes to the 
poem as "an ode which I made when I was but thirteen 
years old." " The beginning of it," he adds, " is boyish : but 
of this part which I here set down (if a very little were 
corrected) I should hardly now be much ashamed." (See 
Cowley's Essays.) 

THE GRASSHOPPER. 

102. This is the tenth of a series of twelve short poems 
entitled Anacreoniiques ; or, Some Copies of Verses Translated 
Porophrastically out of Anacreon, which appeared at the end 
of the Miscellanies in the collection of Cowley's Poems of 1656. 
"Cowley," says Leslie Stephen, " can only be said to survive 
in the few pieces where he condescends to be unaffected." 
The selection here given is a good example of liis simpler 
verse. (See "Cowley" in Gosse's Sevenieenth-century Stud- 
ies.) — 8. Ganimed = Ganymede, the cup-bearer of Zeus. 

LOVELACE. 

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON. 

105. This poem was composed in 1642 during the poet's 
confinement in the Gatehouse at Westminster. Lovelace, 
who was of Kentish family, had been chosen to present to 
Parliament a petition from the Kentish royalists on behalf of 
Charles I. The Parliament threw him into prison because of 
this advocacy of the royal cause. 

HERRICK. 

107. RoBEKT Hekrick (1591-1674), after being neg- 
lected for more than a century, has been given a high place 
among the lyrists of his time. Indeed within his own sphere, 
as laureate of pastoral England, and master of the lighter 
lyric, he has nothing to fear from comparison with the poets 



608 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

of any period of the literature. The sou of a London gold- 
smith, he came as a young man within the group that as- 
sembled round Jouson and was "sealed of the tribe of J3eu." 
His presentation, in 1629, to the living of Dean Prior, near 
Ashburton, Devonshire, set him in the midst of that rural 
life in Euglaiid that lives in so much of his best verse. De- 
prived of his living in 1647 because of his royalist sympa- 
thies, he returned to London, but was restored to his living 
in 1663, and died in 1674. King Oberon's Feast, the first of his 
poems to get into print, appeared in 1685, and his Hesperides, 
or the woi'ks both Hunidiie and Divine of Robert Herrick, Esq., 
a collection containing many of his best-known poems, was 
published in 1648. 

ARGUMENT TO HESPERIDES. 

3. Hock-carts, the last carts to return from the fields at 
harvest-home. Perhaps from Hockey, Prov. Eng. for Har- 
vest-home. For description of the ceremonies customary at 
harvest festivals, see Merrick's poem The Hock-cart, Hesperi- 
des, No. 250.— 3. Wassails. It was a rural custom to drink 
the health of or to Wassail, the fruit-trees on Christmas eve. 
Herrick alludes to this iu his pouin C remonies for Christmas, 
Hesperides, No. 786. For account of similar ceremonies prac- 
tised in Devonshire, Herrick's county, on the eve of Epiphany, 
see also (Jhnmheis' a Book of Days, I, 5').) — 3. Wakes, originally 
festivals held in celebration of the dedication of a church, 
usually upon the day of the saint after whom the church was 
named ; later these festivals became county fairs but still 
retained the u-une of wakes (see Strutt's Sports and Pastimes, 
% XXVIII). A good notion of the appropriate ceremonies of 
May-day, the other country festival here alluded to, will be 
found in the next selection, Corinna Going a-Maying.—S. Times 
trans-shifting. Herrick wrote in a period of political change 
and excitement, but as his work is habitually removed from 
such matters, he probably refers liere merely to the succession 
of the seasons. — 12. The Court of Mab. The fairy Mab, popu- 
larly associated with dreams and nightmare. Although she is 
here said to have a court, the earliest known instance of her 
being called a Queen is in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, I. 4. 
See Furness's n. on this passage in Variorium Ed., vol. i. p. 61, 
and Milton's U Allegro, 1. 101, and n. 



I 



MILTOl^ 609 



WALLER. 

ON A GIRDLE. 

113. — 6. The pale, etc. Pale is used for tbat wbich en- 
compasses, as well as in the more ordinary sense of a fence or 
boundary, as of a park. The well-worn pun on dter, poor 
enough at best, is one of the few blemishes on the poem. The 
conceit shows that poor taste from which even the greatest 
Elizabethan poets are not exempt. Shakespeare himself makes 
this same wretched pun more thnn once. 

ON THE FOREGOING DIVINE POEMS. 

114. On the Foregoing Divine Poems, i.e. On Divine Love 
(1685) and The Fear of God {\^m).—\. When we for age. If 
this was writtea in 1686, the date of the last poem sibove 
mentioned, Waller must have been eighty one years old at 
this time.— 11. Clouds of Affection, i.e. clouds of passion, or the 
passing impulses and desires of youth. Affection was origi- 
nally used in a bad as well as in a good sense. Here the sense 
is that the thronging desires and longings of youth hide that 
emptiness of life winch age descries. 



MILTON. 

115. John Milton was born in 1608, or eight years 
after the death of Shakespeare and about twenty-three years 
before the birlh of Dryden, — the next great master in the po- 
etic succession. He lived until 1674, or fourteen year.-; after 
the Restoration. He thus grew up and began to write during 
the latter years of the Elizabethan period; he was closely 
identified with almost the whole course of the Puritan struggle 
for civil and religious liberty, and he lived on, a sublime and 
solitary figure, into the midst of that new literary and social 
epoch which dates from the accession of Cliarles II. He was 
therefore contemporaneous with Suckling, Lovelace, ILerbert, 
and the lyrists grouped together in the last section, although 
differing widely from them in his genius and work. Milton's 
literary career falls naturall}'^ into three well-marked divisions. 
1st. Minor Poetic Period, dr. 1624-1638-40, which includes 
V Allegro, 11 Penseroso, Comus, Lycidas, and many of the 
short poems ; 2d. Period of Prose and of Pamphlet 
Warfare, cir. 1640-1660, which includes his controversial 



610 SPEN^SER TO DRYDEN^ 



■writiug. tmcts. and a few sonnets, poetical translations, etc.; 
3d. Major Poetic Period, cir. 1660-1674, the great period 
of Paradise Lost, Samson Agonistes, and Paradise Regained. 

L' ALLEGRO AND IL PENSEROSO. 

These companion poems, written while Milton was living in 
his father's house at Horton, a village near Windsor, — or be- 
tween about 1632-38, — are eilher studies of two contrasted 
characters, that of the mirthful and the meditative man, or, 
possibly, revelations of two contrasted moods felt by the same 
man at different times and under different circumstances. The 
two poems should consequently be read together and constantly 
compared. Dr. Garnett remarks that the poems are "comple- 
mentary " rather than contrary, and in a sense may be regarded 
as one poem whose theme is the praise of the reasonable life. 
" Mirth has an undertone of gravity, and melancholy of cheer- 
fulness. Tliere is no antagonism between the states of mind 
depicted ; and no rational lover, whether of contemplation or 
recreation, would find any difficulty in combining the two." 
(Life of Milton, G. W. S., p. 49.) The natural background 
in each poem, is skilfully harmonized with the general im- 
pression Milton wished to produce ; that is, the aspects of 
Nature described in either case may be regarded either as in- 
forming us of the character and especial preferences of the 
speaker, — if two distinct persons are portrayed, — or as in- 
dicating tbe scenes which are most conducive to, or in keeping 
with, the cheerful and the thoughtful mood. Dr. Johnson 
says: "The author's design is not, "what Theobald has re- 
marked, merely to show how objects derive their color from 
the mind by representing the operation of the same things upon 
the gay and the melancholy temper, or upon the same man as 
he is differently disposed ; but rather how. among the succes- 
sive variety of appearances, every disposition of mind takes 
hold on those by which it may be gratified." ("Milton," 
Lives of the Poets {M.. Arnold's ed.), p. 44.) Wliatever view we 
take, the two poems should be read carefully for the light they 
throw on Milton himself at this period. A man's character 
can be inferred from his tastes, and as Milton's genius was not 
of that dramatic and objective quality which effaces the wri- 
ter's personality in the portrayal of alien characters, we are 
justified in assuming that Milton himself really cared for those 
things— the stage, the cathedral, etc.— in which he makes the 
two speakers delight. 

The sources of these poems have been discussed by the crit- 
ics. It has been urged that the theme may have been sug- 
gested by certain portions of Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy 



MILTOK - 611 

(1621) and by a song iu Beaumont and Fletcher's play of Nice 
Valor (played 1613 ?). The opening lines of tbis song are as 
follows : 

" Hence, all you vain delig;hts, 
As short as are the nights 
Wherein j'ou spend your folly ! 

There's naught in this hfe sweet, 
If man were wise to see't, 
But only melancholy, 
O sweetest melancholy."" 

The resemblance here to 11 Penseroso seems certainly to be 
more than merely fortuitous. Prof. Masson thinks, however, 
that "the help from any such quarters must have been verj-- 
small." It certainly seems more important to note that in 
their lyrical movement, and in their love of splendor, ro- 
mance, and stately ceremonial (e.g. U Allegro, 1. 117-135), we 
recognize Milton's close affinity to the Elizabethans, during 
his early years. 

L'ALLEGRO. 

5. Uncoutb, probably used in its original meaning, unknown. 
12. Euphrosyne (Gr, evcpftoorvrr} = cheerfulness, mirth, 
verb eL(pfjaii'GO = to cheer, to delight.) Euphrosyne or joy, 
mirth, was one of the three Graces. Two views are here 
advanced in retiard to the parentage of Euphiosyne ; the first, 
that she is the daughter of Venus ard Bacchus (or that Mirth 
springs from Love and Wine) ; the second (which Milton 
declares to be the " sager," or wi.ser, view), that she is born of 
Zephyr and Aurora ; or that true mirth, such as the poet 
wishes to celebrate, comes not from heated pleasures, but 
from the pure delight in the freshness of a spring morning 
and surrounded by the loveliness of nature. 

116. — 40 Unreproved. Note that even in the midst of his 
praise of mirth Milton never forgets those principles which 
guided his life. He grew more austeie and restrained with 
years, but he was the Puritan from the first. — 41. To hear the 
Lark. The mirthful man's day begins early (cf. account of 
genealogy of Euphrosyne and note supra); indeed morning 
and daytime are given the first place in this poem, as evening 
and night <-ire in the companion study. — 45. To come probably 
depends upon "to hear" (1.41); i.e. to hear the lark begin 
his flight, and then descending come to the speaker's window 
in the spite of, or to spite, sorrow. Critics have pointed out 
that such a visit would be contrary to the habit of the 
skylark. Masson defends Milton by contending that it is 
not the skylark, but the speaker, L'Allegro, who comes 
back to his* own window {v. Masson's ed.). "To come" is 



612 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 



thus made to depend upon "Miiih admit me," 1. 38. On 
this, Pattison says: "I cannot construe the lines as Mr. 
Massou does, even though ihe consequences were to convict 
Milton, a cily-bred youtJi, of not knowing a tliylark from ii 
sparrow when he saw it." 

117. — ^0, Cynosure. The Greelc name for the constelhi- 
lion of llie Lesser Bear, which contains the Pole-star. Sailors 
keep their eyes on this in steering, hence an obj.^ct on which 
the eyes are fastened as a guide came to be called a cynosiire. 
Milton was not the first to use the word in this secondary 
sense. (See Murray's Diet.) — 94. Rebecks, a primitive form 
of violin ; the earliest known form of instrument of the viol 
class. 

118. — 101. Stories. The superstitious rustics tell their 
various adventures with supernatural beings. Mob eats the 
junkets {v. 2>ost)\ and pinches the itlle servants ; Friar Hush, or 
Will-o'-the-wisp, leads the wayfarer into bogs ; the drudging 
gobiin or "lubber" fiend performs household tasks for a 
•' cream-bowl dul}-^ set " for him to drink. Mab is the fairy 
called " Queen Mab " by Shakespeare and elaborately de- 
scribed by him in Romeo and Juliet,!. 4. — 102. Junkets, originally 
a kind of cream cheese served on rushes (Ilal. guinco, a rush), 
is commonly thought to be here used in the more general 
sense of delicacies or sweetmeats. The word was used in 
Milton's time (see Heriick's llie Wake), but there seems to be 
no objection to adopting the ordinary meaning of curds or 
clouted cream. Shakespeare describes Mab as mischievous, 
and Ben Jonson speaks of her {The Satyr, 1603) as "the 
mistress fairy that doih nightly rob the dairy." It is not 
unlikely that it is such surreptitious visits to the dairy that the 
word junkets is here intended to indicate. — 105. Drudging 
Goblin, i.e. Robin Goodfellow, who appears in an idealized 
form as Puck in i\\Q Midsummer Night's Dream. — 110. Lubber- 
fiend. A lazy, clumsy, unwieldy creature. See Gent, Did. for 
lubber, lob, etc. Wartou quotes Beaumont and Fletcher, 
' there's a pretty tale of a witch — that had a giant to her sou 
that was called Ldb-lie-by-the-fire" {Knight of the Burning 
Pestle, III, IVj, and thinks Milion confounded this giant with 
Goodfellow. Seen, to Furness's J/irf. Night's Dream — on p. 50. 
Also Mrs Ewings story {Lob-Lie-by the-Fire). — 120. "Weeds of 
peace. G irments ; the garb of peace. This word survives in 
the phrase icidoio's weeds. — 122. Influence, probably used in 
the old astrological sense as in the phrase "born under 
the influence " of a certain planet. The passage suggests 
a likeness between the ladies' eyes and the stars which 
were supposed to influence events. — 132. Learned Sock. The 
sock, or S0CCU8, being the light boot worn by comedy actors in 



1 



MILTON 613 



the Classic Drama, is used to indicate here that it is 
Beu Jousou's comedies ralher than his tragedies that the 
cheerful inuu delights in. The manner in which Shakespeare 
is referred to, as well as the whole context, shows that it 
is the Shakespeare of As You Like It and the comedies, and not 
of Hamlet, that Milton has in mind. In spite of the frequent 
objection that the reference to Shakespeare fails to do justice 
to that poet's consummate art, the passage sufficiently 
indicates an important distinction between him and Jonson ; 
the latter, a good classical scholar, being praised for his learn- 
ing ; the former, with his ''small Latin," for his untaught and 
native power. Such, as Hales remarks, was the recog- 
nized seventeenth-century opinion. 

119. — 136. Lydian airs. The Lydians, a people of Asia 
Minor, were noted for their effeminacy. Their music was 
soft and voluptuous, while the Dorian music was majestic 
and inspiring (see Far. Lost, Bk. I. 549) and adapted to the 
bass, as the Lydian to the tenor voice. Cf. the noble anthems 
and the pealing organ music which especially appeals to the 
meditative man; also Alexander's Feast, 1. 79, Spenser's Faerie 
Queene, Bk. HI. Cut I. 1. 40. 

IL PENSEROSO. 

Penseroso. Milton has liere made a slip in his Italian; he 
should have written pensieroso. II Pensierow, the meditative 
or thoughtful man, or one who enjoys the delights of lofty 
contemplation — 8. Bested = bestead. The meaning here is 
profit, avail, or adnantage, but this is a peculiar use. (See Dic- 
tionaries of Richardson and Skeat, Bihle Word Book, etc.) — 6, 
Fond, i.e. foolish. Look up and cf. Shakespeare's use of this 
word. — 12. Melancholy. The idea that Milton's conception of 
melancholy was suggested by Albert Durer's figure of Melan- 
cholia seems to be both erroneous and misleading. Milton's 
Melancholy is not the inaction of utter despair, but sinpl}' 
those high and holy musings, those solemn joys, Ibtit to the 
weak only, seem " overlaid with black." 

120, — 18. Prince Memnon's Sister. In Homeric mythol- 
ogy Prince Memnon was famous for his dusky beauty. Tra- 
dition represents him as an Ethiopian piince, killed in the 
Trojan war. As there seems little warrant for the belief that 
he Juid a sister, it nuiy be assumed that Milton evolved her 
for liis convenience, intending to suggest to us a feminine 
impersonation of Memnon's characteristics. — 19. Ethicp 
Queen. See Cassiepea or Oassiopea in Class. Diet. — 23. 
Bright haired Vesta. Contrast the parentage ascribed to 
Mir 111 and to Melancholy. In both cases the poet invents a 



614 SPENSER TO DRYDEK 



siguificiint genealogy. For the latter he chooses Saturn 
(called "solilaiy" from bis haviug devoured his owq chil- 
dren), and Vesta or Uestia, among the Romans the goddess of 
the domestic hearth. Vesta, being dedicated to virginity, 
is probably here taken as a type of purity, while Saturn 
clearly represents solitude. Hence Milton apparently means 
that the elevating contemplation he wishes to describe springs 
f lom the solitary meditation of a pure mind. The epithet 
"bright-haired" may possibly have been suggested by the 
flames kept burning on the altars of Vesta. — 33. Grain = Crim- 
son or, as here, Tyrian purple. This color was obtained from 
a small insect which, when dried, had the appearance of a 
seed or grain. (See Par. Lost, Bk. V. 285, and Mid. N. B. I. 2. 
95.)— 35. Stole, The stole was a long robe worn by Roman 
ladies. Stole also means the scarf worn by a priest Spenser 
uses stole for hood or veil, in wliich sense it is here used. 
Cipress lawn, i.e. Cyprus laion. Cyprus was a thin material, 
generally black, similar to crape. (See Wintefs Tale, IV. 4.) 
121. — 54. Contemplation. See Ezekiel, ch. x , and Par. 
Lost, Bk. VI. 750-759. Milton here gives the name Contempla- 
tion to one of the cherubs in Ezekiel's vision With writers 
of Milton's time Contemplation was a word of high mean- 
ing, denoting the faculty by which the clearest notion of 
divine things could be attained. — 55. Hist. Skeat takes this 
to be past part, meaning hushed, silenced; i.e. bring along 
with thee mute Silence hushed. (See Etymol. Diet.) As 
we cannot conceive of Silence as other than "mute," it 
surely seems unnecessary to tell us in addition that she 
was " hushed." Masson and Hales, on the other hand, 
take hist as an imperative, and would understand it as 
"Bring silently along." The latter interpretation, if it can 
be sustained etymologically, would seem to be the better. — 
59. Dragon yoke, "i.e. while the Moon, entranced with the 
song, is seen to check the pace of her dragon-drawn chariot 
over a particular oak tree, that she may listen the longer." 
(Masson. See his entire note.)— 83. Bellman. The watchman 
in olden times used a bell. " Half-past nine and a fine cloudy 
evening," may be remembered yet as a cry of the watchman 
in some towns before the time of gas; but the older watch- 
men mingled pious benedictions with their meteorological 
information." (Masson.)— 87. The Bear, The constellation of 
Ursa Major, which never sets. — 88. Thrice-great Hermes, i.e. 
Hermes Trismegistus {Tpi'iiieyLaro'i = superlatively, or 
thrice, great), the Egyptian Thoth or Thot, identified by the 
Greeeks with Hermes, or Mercury. Many mystical books 
were ascribed to him, and it is these books that the student is 
supposed to sit absorbed in reading until the stars disappear 



MILTON" 615 

in the dawn. Unsphere, etc. That is, bring back Plato's 
spirit from the sphere which mny hold it, by the study of his 
works; or, to commune with Plato through his books. Ref- 
erences to the splieres are common in Milton, who apparently 
preferred the Ptolemaic system at least for poetic purposes. 

122. — 93. Demons. Demon, not a devil, but au indwel- 
ling spirit (Gr. dauio^y), meant originally an inferior god, or 
often a guardian spirit. The idea that the four elements (out 
of which the Greek philosopher Empodocles held the uni- 
verse to be composed) were inhabited by indwelling spirits, 
or demons, belongs to post-classic times. — 95. Consent = con- 
nection. The belief in astrology was very general in Milton's 
time. — 98. Sceptred pall, i.e. royal robe, or perhaps, with 
sceptre and with pall, or robe (Lat. palla = a robe, or mantle). 
— 99. Thebes or Pelops' line. L' Allegro's taste is for the mod- 
ern forms and creations of dramatic art— masks, pageants, 
the comedies of Jonson and SI akespeaie. 11 Penseroso's 
tastes are chiefly classical, as the subjects here referred to 
(connected wnth the house of (Edip^is of Thebes, of Pelops of 
Phrygia, or of the Trojan heroes) are the themes of some of 
the greatest of the Athenian tragedies. Besides these the 
excellence of the later, or modern, stage seems to him rare. — 
104. Raise Musaeus, etc. Masson thus paraphrases this passage: 
" Oh that we could recover the sacred hymns of the primi- 
tive, semi-mythical Musoeus of the Greeks, or the similar 
poems by his contemporary Orpheus." — 110. Cambuscan (said 
to be a corruption of Cambus or OengMs Klian). The poet 
referred to as leaving the story half told is Chaucer, who 
related part of it iu his unfinished Squire's Tale in the Canter- 
bury Tales. Spenser completed it {Faerie Qvee7ie, IV. C's. II. 
and III.) — 116. Great bards. Generally taken to refer to the 
great romantic poets Spenser, Ariosto, Tasi-o, of whom Milton 
was fond in his youth. — 124. Attic boy, i.e. Cephalus. See 
Class. Diet. 

123.— 134. Sylvan, i.e. Sylvamis, the wood god. Hales 
quotes Par. Lost. IV. 705, aiid Virgil, Georg. IL 393 —159. 
Storied windows, i.e. stained-glass windows with scenes or 
figures illustrative of sacred story. 

SONG SWEET ECHO. 

124. — 2. Thy airy shell, " the hollow vault of the atmos- 
phere." (Masson.) — 3. Slow Meander's. The Mjeander was a 
river iu Asia Minor celebrated for its winding, tortuous 
course (hence our verb to meander). It is to this characteris- 
tic of the stream that the epithet slow refers. — 7. Gentle pair. 
The song is sung by a maiden who has lost her way in a 



616 SPENSER TO DRYDEi}^ 



forest, having beeu accideutally separated from her two 
brothers. They are the "gentle pair " for whom she inquires. 
— 8. Thy Narcissus. Echo was in love with and slighted by 
the beautiful youth Narcissus. (See Ovid, Met. 3. 341 tt seq.) 

SONG, SABRINA FAIR. 

125. — 1. Sabrina. or Sabre, was a princess celebrated in 
the legendary history of Britain, She was the daughter of 
the King Locrine and the beautiful German Princess Es- 
trildis, and was thrown with her mother into the river Sev- 
ern by order of Queen Gwendolen, her mother's rival. In 
the passage preceding the song, Milton tells us how, in the 
waters of the Severn, Sabrina was kindly received by Nereus, 
the father of the water-nymphs, and how, undergoing " a 
quick immortal change," she became "goddess of the river." 
Milton tells the story in his History of Britain Spenser 
makes use of the legend in The Faerie Queene, Bk. II. c. x. , 
and Drayton in the Fifth Song of his Polyolbion. — 10. 
Oceanus was the first-born of the Titans, and consequemly an 
earlier deity than Neptune. His wife was Tethys, and their 
children the rivers and the Oceanides, or nymphs of the 
ocean. — 14. Carpathian wizard, " the subtle Proteus, ever 
changing his shape: he dwelt in a cave in the island of Car- 
pathus; and he had a 'hook,' because he was the sheplierd 
of the sea-calves." (Masson.) For the rest. Triton and 'Thetis, 
mother of Achilles, were sea-deities, and Glaucus, Leacothea 
("the white goddess"), and Melicertes, i e. "her son that 
rules the strands," were originally mortals who, like Sabrina 
herself, had beeu drowned and converted into water-powers. 

LYCIDAS. 

126. Lycidas was written late in 1637. It is a lament for 
the death of Edward King, a young man of much promise, 
who had been a fellow student of Milton's at Cambridge 
some five years before. King was drowned while on his 
way to Ireland, — the ship striking a hidden rock off the 
Welsh coast and going down in u calm sea. A small memo- 
rial volume of poems in Greek, Latin, and English was pre- 
pared by King's friends, 'Awd Lycidas was Milton's contribution 
to the volume. The book was printed at Cambridge in 1638. 

Lycidas is a pastoral elegy, made to conform in general to 
the classic models. It is not a passionate outburst of personal 
grief, like parts of In Memoriam, but rather as severely classic 
in its subdued tone and emotional restraint as it is in its 



MILTOK 617 

refined beauty, its iudescribable but iuimitablo justness of 
phrase, and iis perfect proportion of form. It is likely that 
Milton and King had seen little or nothing of each other for 
some years, and Milton's grief probably did not go beyond 
a sincere regret. There is no reason to assume that he 
mourned as another Cambridge man, Alfred Tennyson, did 
almost exactly two centuries later for his fellow student's 
untimely death. But while Milton does not exaggerate his 
grief for the sake of poetic effect, his tribute to King and to 
the memories of their college- days is doubtless sincere as well 
as beautiful. 

The deepest feeling of the poem, however, is not expended 
on the death of King, but is poured out in the two famous 
passages, the first touching on the slate of contemporary 
poetry (11. 64-«4), the second on the corrupt condition of the 
Church (11. 107-132), which break in as episodes upon the 
regular progress of the poem. Two facts gave Milton some 
pretext for thus leaving the purely personal, and therefore 
more restricted, side of his subject, to plunge into those broad 
issues which were then absorbing the best powers of earnest 
men. First, King had written vtrse, he " knew himself to 
sing," and second, he was destined for the Church. By these 
two slender threads the poem is connected with tlie mighty 
matters then pressing for solution, and to understand it we 
must imagine ourselves back in the England of 1637, when 
Clmrles was trying to force the English liturgy on the indig- 
nant Scots, and when Hampden was arousing the nation by 
his resistance to the payment of ship-money. In those days 
men's minds were growing more stern and uncompromising, 
the lines between the hostile forces of Puritan and Cavalier 
were becoming more sharply drawn, and already the country 
was moving towards revolution. The poem shows also a some- 
what similar transition in Milton himself. In it he passes 
definitely from the poet of U Allegro, with its touches of the 
romantic coloring of Spenser, to the sterner, severer, and 
sublimer poet of Paradise Lost. 

Lycidas. " The name Lycidas, chosen by Milton for Edward 
King, is taken, as was customary in such elegies, from the 
classic pastorals. It occurs in Theocritus ; and Virgil has the 
name for one of the speakers in his Ninth Eclogue." (Masson.) 
— 1. Yet once more. Milton had probably written no poetry 
since Comus, produced three years earlier (1634). This period 
of his life was one of solemn and studious preparation for his 
work as a poet He here indicates that although he did not 
feel himself prepared for his high task, yet the "bitter con- 
straint " of this sad event has compelled him to turn again to 
poetry, unprepared as he was ; or (in his figure) to pluck with 



618 SPENSER TO DRYDEN 

" forced fingers " the laurel, myrtle, and ivy, the emblems of 
the poet's culling, "before the mellowing year." — 6. Occasion 
dear, i.e. the extremity of the situation. " Dear" has here the 
force of a superlative, as in Hamlet I. 2, " 'Ky dearest foe," etc. 
— 10. Who would not sing, etc. An imitation of Vergil ; 
Eclogues X. 3 : Negat quis carmina gallo? — 15. Sisters of the 
sacred well = the Muses, One of the two places particularly 
associated with the Muses was the slope of Mount Helicon in 
western Boeotia. Here were the fountains Aganippe and 
Hippocrene, sacred to the Muses. Hales quotes the opening 
of Hesiod's Theogony, where the Muses of Helicon are 
described as dancing about Aganippe and "the altar of the 
mighty Son of Kronos," i.e. " the Seat of Jove." — 20. Lucky 
words. Rather to be taken in the sense of words favorable to 
the repose of the departed than as involving any idea of 
chance. Such, according to the Roman rite, were the words 
sit tihi terra levis, uttered by the mourner as he sprinkled the 
earth three times over tbe dead. (See Hor. Odes I. xxviii.)— 
23. For we were nursed, etc. Under the imagery appropriate 
to a pastoral elegy, Milton now shadows forth the early com- 
panionship of King and himself at Cambridge. Thus the 
" Satyrs " and " Fauns " (34) are supposed to represent the 
undergraduates, and " Old Damaetus" (86) one of the tutors 
of Christ's College. 

127. — 40. Gadding = to run about aimlessly here and 
there, to wander. The word here has both a freshness and 
exactness which show the master's hand.— 50. Where were ye 
nymphs. After stating the occasion of his poem (1-15), invok- 
ing the Muse (15-23). recalling early companionship (23-50), 
Milton now passes to the fourth natural division of his poemt- - 
the vain inquiry addressed to the indwelling spirits, rulers, or 
forces of Nature, asking why the loss of Lycidas was permit- 
ted, and endeavoring to find out to whom or to what it is 
attributable. This ma}^ be regarded as extending from 50 to 
131, including the two episodes, or digressions (64-85 and 113- 
131) already alluded to. The question to the nymphs is a 
reminiscence of Vergil, Eclog. X. 9-12, and of Theocritus, 
Idyls I. 65-9 ; a background of Welsh scenery being substi- 
tuted for classical 1 )calities. Thus " the steep " is one of the 
mountainous heights of the Welsh coast; "Deva" is the 
Dee, out of the mouth of which King sailed on his way from 
Chester ; and " Mona " is Anglesey, a great centre of Druidic 
religion in early times. (See Tacitus, AnaL XIV. 30.) — 58. 
The Muse herself = Calliope. According to some accounts, 
Orpheus was torn in pieces by the Thracian women at a 
Bacchanalian festival, his limbs strewn upon the plain, and his 
head cast into the river Hebrus, 



MILTON" 619 

128,-68,69. Amaryllis— Neaera. No especial persons ap- 
pear to have been intended. These names, borrowed from the 
classic pastorals, simply stand for young and beautiful 
maidens. — 75. The Blind Fury. Milton departs here from the 
classic mythology, according to which the being whose office 
it was to cut the thread of life was Atropos, one of the Fates, 
and not one of the Furies. Milton not iufiequently used the 
great poet's privilege of mak'ug, or altering, a myth to suit his 
purpose, and he doubtless had some definite purpose in this 
variation of the established version. His design is apparently 
to represent death as coming inopportunely, or blunderingly, 
marring what we would regard as the right order of events. 
Hence the vague image of a being " blind " and uncontrolled 
may have been selected as better suited to his purpose than one 
of the Fates, suggestive as she would be of conforming to an 
appointed and inevitable order. — 85, 86. Arethuse . . . Mincius. 
The first is in Ortygia off the coast of Sicily, an island asso- 
ciated with Theocritus, the second in northern Italy near the 
birthplace of Vergil. The first, as Masson remarks, conse- 
quently suggests the Greek, the second the Latin, pastoral. In 
the preceding digression Milton has gone far beyond the 
proper limits of the pastoral elegy ; his strain has been in a 
*' higher mood." This address to the fountains, suggestive of 
the Greek and Latin masters of the pastoral, and the succeed- 
ing passage, inform us that he has resumed the oaten pipe of 
the true shepherd Muse. — 89. Herald of the sea = Triton, who 
comes in behalf of Neptune.— 96. Hippotades = the son of 
Hippotas, i.e. ^olus — 99. Panope, or Panopea, was one of the 
Nereids (see Verg. ^n. V. 240, etc.). By describing her as 
" sleek " and at play with her sisters, Milton indicates the 
smoothness of the sen. 

101. Built in the Eclipse. Eclipses were considered by the 
ancients as out of the order of nature, and were supposed to 
exert a mysterious and disastrous influence. T. Warton quotes 
Mac. IV. 28, and Hales, Learl. 2. 112, and Par. Lost, I. 596- 
9. 

129.— 103. Camus. The god, or genius, of the Cam, the 
stream on which Cambridge is situated. " He comes attired 
in a mantle of the hairy river- weed that floats on the Cam ; 
his bonnet is of the sedge of that river, which exhibits peculiar 
markings, something like the di at (alas ! alas I) which the 
Greek detected on the leaves of the hyacinth, in token of 
the sad death of the Spartan youth from whose blood the 
flower had sprung." (Masaon.) 109. The Pilot of the Galilean 
Lake = St. Peter ; here represented, however, not as the fisher- 
man of Galilee, but as the Bishop with mitre and keys of 
heaven (see St. Matt. xvi. 17-19 and St. Matt, xviii. 18.) 



620 SPE]S"SER TO DRYDEN 

" Clearly this marked insistence od the power of the true 
episcopate is to make us feel more weightily what is lo be 
charged agaiust the false claimants of episcopate ; or gener- 
ally, against false claimants of power and rank in the body of 
the clergy. " (Ruskin. Sesame and Lilies, %% 20 el seq,, q. v. for 
analysis of the entire passage. — 111. Amain = forcibly, with 
power. It indicates, I suppose, the final, effective manner in 
which the door is closed. {Amain = A. S. on, an, or a, with, 
and maegene — strength. — 122. They are sped = they are ad- 
vanced in worldly prosperity. The original meaning of the 
noun speed is success, riches, and this word and the verb are 
connected with A. S. spowan — to succeed. The phrasu "you 
are sped " is employed by Shakespeare in an entirely diflerent 
sense. The ideal of success entertained by the corrupt clergy 
is thus precisely the reverse of that laid down in the preceding 
digression on Fame, and tlie two passages are in effective 
contrast. — 124. Scrannel = lean, thin, or harsh sounding. A 
provincial word probably connected with "scrawny," but un- 
usual in classic English. With "g/'ales," "w7'etched," and 
"straw," "scrannel" obviously adds wonderfully to the 
grinding, jarring effect that the poet wished to produce. — 
128. The grim wolf, i.e the Romish Church.— 180. Two-handed 
engine This has been much discussed. The "engine" has 
been thought to be the executioner's axe, and the passage 
taken as a prophecy of the execution of Archbishop Laud ; 
others have thought it the sword of St. Peter ; others, the 
two Houses of Parliament (an untenable interpretation) ; and 
others again have seen in it an allusion to the axe metaphori- 
cally spoken of in St. J\Iatt. iii. 10, St. Luke iii. 9, which was 
to be " laid to the root of the tree." The last interpretation 
is probably the least objectionable ; nevertheless the passage 
remains obscure, the essential meaning being, of course, that 
the end is at hand, and the avenger with his instrument of de- 
struction, a terrible and sudden weapon of retribution, stands 
even at the door. — 132. Return, Alpheus. This invocation, like 
the preceding one to Arelhuse (1. 85), sounds the note of recall 
to the stricter lin)its of the true pastoral. Alpheus likewise 
suggests the Sicilian muse. (See Class. Diet, for story of 
Alpheus and Arethusa, and Shelley's Areihusa.) 

130. — 138. The swart star = Sirius, or the Dog-star. 
Coming at a hot time of the year, this star was anciently as- 
sociated with, and even supposed by the Romans to cause, 
sultry weather. Here called "swart," i.e. dark, or swarthy, 
because of the burning or tanning effect of the summer suns. 
— 142. Rathe = early ; the positive, now out of use, oi rather, 
earlier, sooner. — 148 Sad emhroidery, i.e. the garb of mourn- 
ing. Note how skilfully Milton has contrived to associate 



MILTOls^ 621 

^ the most of these flowers with thoughts or hues of grief: 
the "forsaken " primrose ; the "pale " jessnmiue and black- 
streaked pansy; the " wan" cowslips, with their "pensive" 
heads ; and the daffodillies, their cups filled witli tears. — 
153. False surmise. " Milton has been speaking of the hearse ' 
(i.e. tomb, oi coffin) "of Lycidas, and the flowers fit to be 
strewn upon it in mourning, when lie suddenl}^ reminds him- 
self that all is but a fond fancy, inasmuch as Lycidas had 
perished at sea and his body had never been recovered." (Mas- 
son.) — 158. Monstrous worli. i.e., the world of monsters at the 
bottom of the sea. — ifiO. Bellerus. Land's End, Cornwall, was 
called Bellerium by the Romans. Bellerus here dots not ap- 
pear to be a real peiS' nage; the name was apparently coined 
by Milton from that of the pn)montor3% with the idea of rais- 
ing the implication that tlie region was named after some one 
so called. The sense here is, or dost thou sletp by the fabled 
land of old Bellerus? — 161. The guarded mount is 8t. Michael's 
Mount, a precipitous and rocky islet ntar the coast of Corn- 
wall. It was supposed to be guarded by the Archangel 
Michael, who was reported to have been seen there seated on 
a high ledge of rock. Hence the form of the Archangel is 
"the great vision," to be imagined as seated on the ledge 
called St. Michael's chair, and gazing far across the sea to- 
wards Namaacos and Bayoiia's hold " (the former being a 
town, the second a stronghold on the Spanish coast), i.e. look- 
ing in the direction of Spain. St. Michael is then implored to 
turn his distant gaze homeward, and pity the youth who has 
perished almost at his feet. — 165. Weep no more. In entering---, 
upon this new natural division of the poem we pass into a strain 
of hope and cheerfulness. Some such transition to a consolatory^ 
and reassuring tone is found toward the end ol' most of the 
famous elegies, and may be regardetl as analogous to the 
allegro movement of a sonata. The grc und of hope here, un- 
like tliat in Shelley's Adonais or Arnold's Thyrds, is dis- 
tinctly Christian. (See also Spenser. Eclog. Vll.) 

131. — 189. Doric lay. So called because Lycidas follows 
the elegiac manner of 'rheocritus and Moschus, who wrote in 
Doric Greek. 

MILTON'S SONNETS. 

Milton's important relation to the history of the sonnet in 
England is thus summarized by Mark Paltison: " Milton's dis- 
tinction in the history of the English sonnet is that, not over- 
awed by the great name of Shakespeare, he emancipated this 
form of poem from the two vices which depraved the Eliza- 
bethan sonnet — from the vice of misplaced wit in substance, 
and of misplaced rime in form. . . . The tradition of the son- 



622 SPEN^SER TO DRYDEN 

net, coming from what had not ceased to be regarded as the 
home of learning, appealed to his classical feeling. His exqui- 
site ear for ryhtlim dictated to him a recurrence to the Italian 
type in the arrangement of the rimes." (Pattison's Ed. of The 
Sonnets of John Milton, Int. 45, 46.) 

ON HAVING ARRIVED AT THE AGE OF TWENTY- 
THREE. 

Milton's twenty-third birthday was Dec. 9, 1631 ; it is con- 
sequently assumed that this sonnet was written on or about 
that date. The poem was sent in a letter to a Cambridge 
friend, who had dwelt upon the ineffectiveness of a life given 
up to study, and had urged upon Milton the duty of his devot- 
ing himself to the Church, or to some active pursuit. In the 
letter Milton takes the characteristic position that he did not 
take "thought of being late (or backward in actually doing, or 
producing something) so it gives the advantage to be more tit." 
He adds : " Yet that you may see I am something suspicious 
of myself, and do take notice of a certain belatedness in me, I 
am the bolder to send you some of my nightward thoughts 
soraewhile since, because they come in not altogether unfitly, 
made up in a Petrarchian stanza which I told you of." Then 
follows the sonnet. (Tlie letter is given in Massou's Life and 
Times of Milton, Vol. I. 24-6.) 

5. My semblance, i.e. my appearance, deceives, making me 
seem younger than I really am. In his youth Milton was 
slender in figure, and of a fair, delicate beauty. We know 
that at forty he was taken for ten years younger, and at 
twenty-three his almost feminine refinement of face and figure 
must have been similarly misleading. 

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT. 

132. The subject of this sonnet is the atrocities committed 
against a Protestant community known as the Waldenses or 
Vaudois. who inhabited certain valleys in the Alps. In 1655 
an edict of the Duke of Savo}^ commanded them either to 
leave their homes, or become Roman Catholics within twenty 
days. The command was disregarded and the horrible butch- 
eries and outrages which followed aroused the indignation of 
Europe. Cromwell caused Milton, then Latin Secretary of 
the Commonwealth, to writ^ letters of remonstrance to the 
Duke of Savoy and other rulers. Milton's personal indigna- 
tion found utterance in a sonnet, which remains one of the 
most mighty and majestic in the language. (See Masson's 
Life and Times of Milton, Vol. V. 38.) 



I 



MARVELL 623 



ON HIS BLINDNESS. 

Milton's sight began to be seriously impaired in 1651 and 
he bad become blind by 1652 or 1653. This sonnet is but one 
among several famous poetic outbursts of Milton in regard to 
bis affliction. (Cf. e.g. Paradise Lost, Bk. III. 1, etc., Bk. 
VII. 23, etc., and Samson Agonistes, 67, etc.) According to 
Masson it may have been wiitten " any lime betv^'een 1652 
and 1655." Mark Pattison thinks that as it follows the sonnet 
on the Pledmontese massacre it may have been written in that 
year (1655). 

2. Ere half my days. Milton was about forty-four when he 
became totally blind, or at the fulness of his powers. — 3. One 
talent. See St. Matt, xxv.— 8. Fondly = foolisbly. 

SONNET TO CYRIACK SKINNER. 

133. Cyriack Skinner was a lawyer, a friend, and prob- 
ably a frequent visitor of Milton's. He is also said to have been 
Milton's pupil at an earlier period. The dnte of the sonnet is 
approximately fixed by tiie opening announcement that it was 
written just three years from the day Milton's sight W'as finally 
extinguished, or about 1655. 

1. This three years day, i.e. this day tliree years ago. 
Pattison quotes Shakespeare II. Hen. VI. II. 1 in justifica- 
tion of the idiom. — Though clear, etc. Pattison apparently 
regards this as a piece of vanity on Milton's part. ^Jhere is, 
however, an added pathos about eyes that look as though 
they could see and yet see not. Milton wrote elsewhere of 
his eyes : "They are externally uninjured ; they shine with a 
clear unclouded light, just like the eyes of those whose vision 
is most acute." {Defensio Secunda 4. 267, 1654.) — 11. My 
noble task, i.e. his Pro Populo Anglicano Dffertsio, an answer 
to a work by Salmasius of Leyden (one of the greatest schol- 
ars of the time) in defence of Charles I. Milton gave the last 
of his failing eyesight to this reply to Salmasius. It was pub- 
lished in 1651, attracted great attention in England and on 
the Continent, and was regarded as a damaging blow to 
Milton's great antagonist. 



MARVELL. 

134. Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), poet, satirist, republi- 
can, and friend of Milton, was a man of wide learning, of high 
iutegrit3^ and pure life, in a time of political corruption and 
loose morals. As a satirist he was honored by the admiration 



624 SPE]SrSER TO DRYDEN 



of Diyden, who in some respects followed, while lie greatly 
surpassed him as a satiric writer. Leading an active life in 
the midst of a vexed and ignoble time, he has written of the 
charms of quiet and couutiy life wiili a genuine love and 
inlimaie knowledge of nature. The poems of this group — 
of which The Garden is one— were composed between about 
1650-52, while he was at Nunappleton in Yorkshire, the seat 
of Lord Fairfax, to whose daughter he was tutor. Marvell 
wrote it first in Latin and then himself turned it into English. 

THE GARDEN. 

1. Amaze = bewilder, perplex.— 2. The palm, the oak, or 
bays. These three symbols of distinction are not exactly 
identical. The palm apparently stands for victory in general, 
distinction without specifying in what province ; the oak 
loreath was the reward of civic merit among the Romans, and 
signifies the glory of the soldier or patriot; while the hays (the 
berry of the laurel, and hence the laurel, or laurel wreath) 
hud come to be more particularly associated with fame as a 
poet, to win the bays being sometimes equivalent to gaining 
the laureatcship. 

135. — 36. Curious peach. Curious here = delicious, an 
unusual and obsolete use. Cf. Mather, Mag. Christi, III. 1. i. : 
"He made a careful though not curious dish serve him." 
Swinburue Poems and Ballads: "I served her wine and 
curious meat." See Murray's Eng. Diet for these and addi- 
tional examples. — 51. The body's vest, etc., i.e. casting aside 
as a garment this body which is the vesture of the soul. So 
Shakespeare calls the bod}'^ "this muddy vesture of decay." 
{Mercht. of Ven. V. 1.) 



DRYDEN TO THOMSON 

DRYDEN. 

137. John Dkyden (1631-1700) was incomparably the 
most vigorous poet aud the most iiiHueritial and accomplished 
imm of letters iu England from the death of Il.ilion in 1074 to 
the end of the century. Sprung fiom a Puri;an and anti- 
mouarchical family, he first nltractud altentioii as a i)oet by 
his Heroic Stanuis to the memory of Cromwell (l(i58). But 
neither his descent, uor nis eulogy on the great Puritan pre- 
vented him from employing his poetic gift to welcon:e Charles 
II. on his return. After the Restoration he showed himself 
politic rather than nobly independent, he foiced hin self to 
write plays in keeping with the coirupt taste of the time, and 
in 1681 threw his almost unrivalled poweis of satire on the 
side of the king. Besides sevtral satiric masterpieces, Dr} den 
wrote long religious controversial poems and made numerous 
poetical translations from the classics. In many respects we 
can see that he was the precursor and the model of Pope; in- 
deed he may be said to have done much by precept and' ex- 
ample to make a new epoch in literature. "Perhaps no 
nation," says Dr. Johnson, "ever produced a writer that 
enriched his nation with such a variety of models." 

MAC FLECKNOE. 

^ Mac Flecknoe, by general consent one of the ablest satires 
in the entire range of Eugli.^h poetry, was directed against 
iHOMAS Shad WELL (1640-1692). a minor poet and dramatist 
of the Restoration era. A coolness spiang up between Dryden 
aud Shadwell, who were at one time on fiitndly terms, which 
grew into a bitter enmity. The breach, which appeals to have 
l)eguu in literary jealousy, was intensified by political antag- 
onism, Shadwell being a poet of the Whig, and Dryden of tiie 
Tory party. Dryden 's poem The Medal drew from Shad- 
well a venomous counter-attack. The Medal of John Bayes (i e 
Dryden). This Dryden answered in MacFlecknoe. Shad- 
well was in reality a follower of Ben Jonson ; and Dryden 

625 



626 DRYDEK TO THOMSON 



himself, when the relations between the two poets had been 
friendly, had spoken of hiin as "second but to Ben," but in 
this satire he is represented as the sou, or the poetic successor, 
of a certain Richard Flecknoe, a cou temporary poet and pla}'- 
wright, an Irishman, a Roman Catholic priest, and a Jesuit. 
This obscure and unfortunate writer, now remembered chiefly 
as the butt of Diyden's unsparing ridicule, seems to have had 
hard measure. His works, like many others that have been 
mercifully forgotten, while not immortal creations, are said 
to be by no means devoid of merit, yet their author, besides 
being pilloried by the greatest satirist of his time, was likewise 
made the object of an offensively personal attack by no less a 
poet than Andrew Marvell, in which Flecknoe's poverty, his 
dress, his mean lodgings, and emaciated appearance, were ridi- 
culed with more bad taste than humor. Flecknoe, although 
not a genius, seems to have done nothing to deserve such 
merciless abuse, but it was a lime of hard hitting and Dryden 
had no light hand. The enmity of the great satirist seems to 
have been inspired by nothing more than a petty resentment 
against Flecknoe for his well-merited attack upon the con- 
temporary stage, of which Dryden was one of the pillars, for 
its immorality and worthlessuess. The poem opens M'ith the 
abdication of Flecknoe (who in fact had died sbortly before) 
as absolute monarch of the kingdom of Nonsense in favor of 
Shadwell. 

Mac Flecknoe. Richard Flecknoe, an Irish poet, wit, and 
playwright, who settled in London about the Restoration and 
became a minor figure in its literary life. He died about 
1678. In the sub-title we find the real object of the satire, T. 
8. (Thomas Shadwell). Thomas Shadwell (1640-1692) wns 
prominent among the Whig writers of the time, Dryden being 
identified with the champions of the opposing, or Tory, party. 
Contemptuous reference is accordingly made to Shadwell as 
the " true-blue Protestant poet," i.e. the uncompromising, or 
thoroughgoing, poetic advocate of the faction arrayed against 
Church and King. The phrase " true-blue " being usually asso- 
ciated with the Covenanters, or Presbyterians (see Hudihras, 
I. 191, and Brewer's P/^rase and Fable, "Blue "), the Puritan, 
or dissenting, element is probably here meant, as distinguished 
from the Anglican, or Church, party. Shadwell wrote some 
inferior verse, and seventeen comedies, which depict the 
social life of the time (and particularly its oddities, or 
"humors"), with more truth than decency. So far as the 
plays are concerned it is generally admitted that the charge of 
dulness is undeserved. 

138. — 25. Goodly fabrick. Shadwell was a man of huge, 
unwieldy bulk, and, apparently, of gross appearance. Dryden 



I 



JOHK DRYDEN 627 

satirizes his corpiileDce in a famous descriplion of him, under 
the name of Og, in the Second Part of Absalom and Achitojihel, 
in which he is pictured as "rolling home" from a tavern 
"round as a globe and liquored every chink." — 29. Heywood 
and Shirley. Thomas Heywood (1581 ?-1640 ?) and James 
Shirley (1596-1666) were voluminous dramatic writeis. 
Shirley was the last representative of the Elizabethan drama 
(see p. 604, supra).— '6?,. Norwich drugget. "Thisstulf appears 
to have been sacred to the poorer votaries of Parnassus ; and 
it is somewhat odd that it seems to have been the dress of our 
poet himself in the earlier stages of his fortune." (Scott.) — 
36. King John of Portugal. An allusion to some work of 
Flecknoe's of which, so far as I am aware, nothing is now 
known. — 42. Epsom blankets. An obscure expression. One 
of Shadwell's plays was called Epsom Wills; to blanket, or toss 
in a blanket, was used in the general sense of to punish; 
possibly the meaning is, "such a ridiculous spectacle was 
never seen, not even in your Epsom when you toss, or punish, 
everything in your bhinkets," but the explanation is far from 
satisfactory. — 50. Morning toast. In Drydeu's day and for 
some lime later, the Thames continued to be used as a great 
water-highway by the Londoners. It afforded an ordinary 
and convenient avenue of travel, and was also a resort of 
pleasure-seekers. The river was still clear ; and doubtless 
many who frequented it amused themselves by throwing 
bread or toast into the water, that they might watch the fish 
struggle for the fragments. 

139.— 53. St, Andre. A fashionable dancing-master of the 
time, 54. Psyche. The name of a very inferior opera by 
Shadwell, written in five weeks and produced in 1675 — 57. 
Singleton. An opera-singer and musician then somewhat 
prominent. He took the pari of Vallerius (see 1. 59), one of the 
chief characters in Sir Wi liam Davenant's opera of The Siege of 
Rhodes. — 64. Augusta was the title given by the Romans to 
London {Londinium Augusta) and to other cities in honor of 
the Emperor Augustus. The city is not infrequently thus 
referred to by the poets of the seventeenth and eighteenth 
centuries. (See Gay's Trivia, III. 145 ; Falconer's SJiijiwreck, 
1. 3.) — 65. Fears inclined. The Popish Plot, the apprehensions 
of civil war, the arrest of Shaftesbury, etc., had kept Loudon 
in a panic of dread and feverish excitement.— 67, Barbican. 
A round tower of Roman construction which stood near the 
junction of Barbican Street (to which it had given its name) 
and Aldgate Street. It was on the northern line of the old 
city wall. Hight = was called {A. 8. hdian). — 72. A. Nursery. 
A school of acting established in 1665 by Charles II. on 
petition of Thomas Killigrew and Sir William Davenant, and 



628 DRYDEN^ TO THOMSOJS^ 



designed to furnish actors for the theatres under the manage- 
ment of the petitioners. The right to " act plays and enter- 
tainments of tlie stage " was given in the patent, and at the 
Nursery 3^outljful aspirants made their first crude attempts. 
Pepys visited it and found " the music better tban we looked 
for, and the acting not worse, because I expected as bad as 
could be; and I was not much mistalcen, for ii was so." Diary, 
Feb. 24, 1678. See also ib., Aug. 2. 1664, and Molloy's 
Famous Plays, p. 13, etc. — 78. Maximius. IMaximin, the 
defiant hero of Dryden's Tyrannic Love. — SI. Simkin "was a 
cobbler in an interlude of the day. Shoemaking was especially 
styled ' the gentle craft.' " (Hales.)— 83. Clinches = puns. (See 
Johnson's Diet.; Fopes Biuiciad, I. 63.) — 84. Panton, a noted 
punster. — 87. Dekker (Thomas), ci?-. 1570-1637, an Elizabethan 
dramatist satirized by Ben Jonsou in The Poetaster. 

140.— 91. Worlds of Misers. " Shadwell translated, or 
ralhur imitated, Moliere's L'Avire, under the title of The 
Miser." (Scott.) 'Tie Humourists is also the name of one of 
Shadwell's plays; liamond (1. 93) is a character in it, while 
Bruce appears in another play, T'he Virtuoso. Boih are 
described as gentlemen of wit.— 97. Near Bunhill and distant 
Watling Street. Bunhill was in what were then the outskirts of 
the City in a northerly direction. The AVatling Street here 
referred to is apparently the short street of that name that, in 
Dryden's time as now, led into the open space bacli of St. 
Paul's. The Nursery, the scene of MacFleknoe's abdication. 
was, in general terms, between the two points (see n. to 11. 67 
and 72, supra), but nearer to Bunhill. A good map of London 
will make the exact relation of the places clear; the sense is 
that they came from north and south. — 102. Ogleby (John), 
1600-1676. A Scotch versifier, now cliiefly remembered by 
the satiric allusions of Dryden and Pope {Dunciad, I. 141 and 
328). He was dancing-master to the Earl of Strafford, and later 
published translations of Vergil and Homer. — 104. Bilked = 
defrauded. — 105. Herringraan (Henry). A leading publisher 
of the day. — 108. Young Ascanius. The sou of JSneas. On 
Ascanius depended the .succession and the future greatness 
of Rome. (See Virgil's ^acid, passim.)— 110. Glories, i.e. a 
sacred light, or fire ; often used to signify the nimbus of a 
saint. The leference here is to the harmless flame that played 
about the head of the young Ililus (Ascaidus); a portent of 
royal power {AlJn. II. 682). Dryden in his translation of the 
passage uses the same word, "lambent," to describe the flame 
that he here applies to "dulness." — 120. Sinister. Used here 
in its primary meaning of left as opposed to dexter, right, 
dextvius. The accent should be on the second syllable (see 
Diet.). The ball, or orb, representing the world and hence 



JOHK DRYDEK" 629 



sometimes called the mound (Fr. 7nondc), vjrs au emblem of 
royal power borrowed Irom tbe Roman emperors. English 
sovereigns "held it in their right hand at coronation, and 
carried it in iheir left on their return to Westminster Hall." 
(Hare's Walks in London, 385.) (See also Ben. V. IV. 1. 277. 
and Macbeth, IV. 1. 121.)— 125. Recorded Psyche, i.e. the 
opera of Psyche which was sung, or recorded. To sing is one 
of the accepted meanings of to record: "To hear Ihe lark 
record her hymns." (Fairfax.) A recorder is a small flute, 
as in Hamlet. 

141.— 129. Poppets. "Perhaps in allusion to Sliadwell's 
frequent use of opium as well as to his dulness." (Scott.) — 
149. Virtuosos. The Virtuoso was a comedy of Shadwell's, 
first produced in 1676. Poor Shadwell wjis accused by some 
of too much haste, hence the charge is that he wrote with the 
slowness that discloses incapacity.— 151. Gentle George, i.e. 
Sir George Etheridge {cir. 16o6-1689). He was a famous wit, 
fine gentleman, and comedy-writer ; the companion of Sedley, 
Rochester, and other gay courtiers of Charles II. 's court. 
Dorimant, Loveit, etc , are characters in his comedies. The 
contrast is between the intentional frivolity of such young 
exquisities as SirFupling Fluttei', or the gay and unprincipled 
Dorimant, who are at least amusing in their folly, and the un- 
intentional but inevitable dullness of Shadwell's personages. 

142.— 163. Alien Sedley. i.e. Sir Charles Sedley (1639-1701), 
alluded to above as the companion of Etheiidge, and like him 
a wit and patron of literature. He is calhd alun because 
he assisted Shadwell with his comedy of Epsom Wells, or, 
as Dryden insinuates, larded its prose with a wit alien to 
its ujitive dulness. — 168. Sir Formal. A grandiloquent and 
conceited character in The Virtuoso. The insinuation is that 
Shadwell himself wrote in the pompous style afl'ected by this 
character, and that he uses it in his "northern dedications," 
i.e. certain dedications of his to the Duke and Duchess of 
Newcastle. — 179. Nicander, a lover in the opera of Psyche. — 
188. New humours (see Shadwell, p. 625-6). To understand 
this passage and its context, we must remember that Shadwell 
aspired to be a follower of Ben Jonson, and that in presenting 
"humours," or types of eccentriciiy, he followed Jonson's 
lead. Dr^^den has particularl}'^ in mind some lines of eulogy 
on Jonson in the epilogue to Shadwell's Humourists, wherein 
a humour is described as " the bias of the mind " : — 

" By which with violence 'tis oue way iuclmed; 
It makes our actions lean on one side still, 
And in all changes that way bends our will." 

Dryden, in paraphasing this passage, declares that dulness isthe 
weight, or bias, which inclines all Shadwell's writing toward 



630 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 



stupidity. (See Diet, for original meaning of bias, and cf., 
e.g., The Taming of the Shrew, IV. 5. 35.)— 193. Mountain- 
belly, The expression is taken from Ben Jonsou's good- 
natured allusion to his own bulky person: " my mountain-belly 
and my rocky face." Dryden admits that Shad well did 
indeed resemble Jonson in corpulence; but, unlike Jonson's, his 
U size without mind; his bloated form is but a " tympany of 
sense," i.e. it is empty or hollow, as a drum, but morbidly in- 
flated by a windy distension." (See "TymY>'<iny," Cent. Diet.) 
A very hogshead, in this sense, in gross mass of flesh, he is 
in truth but a " kilderkin," or diminutive barrel, in wit, or 
intellect. 

143. — 204. Mild anagram. Anagrams, acrostics, poems in 
the shape of a cross, au altar, elc, and such other ingenious 
trifles, were common in the early seventeenth century. One 
of George Herbert's poems (Easter Wings) is in the form of a 
pair of winiTs. Hales refers us id'_8pectator, Nos. 58, 60, and 
Disraeli's Curiosities of Literature, "Literary Follies." — 
212, Bruce and Longville. "Two very heavy characters in 
Shadwell's Virtuoso, whom he calls gentlemen of wit and good 
sense." (Derrick.) These two gentlemen dispose of Sir Formal 
Trifle in the midst of his declamation by unfastening a trap- 
door on which he is standing, whereupon he precipitately dis- 
appears. 

ACHITOPHEL, 

Absalom and Achitopliel, from which this extract is taken, is 
the earliest of Dryden's satires, and among the greatest satires 
of the literature in brilliancy and incisive power. It was di- 
rected against the versatile, able, but unscrupulous politician, 
Anthony Ashley Cooper, Lord Shaftesbury, who appears in it 
under the name of Achitophel. The poem was written towai ds 
the close of 1G81, at a critical juncture in public affairs. 
Shaftesbury (who had opposed the succession of the king's 
brother James, and favored that of the Duke of Monmouth) 
was then in the Tower awaiting his trial for high treason. 
Dryden, believing that Shaftesbury had nearly precipitated a 
civil war, found in the revolt of Absalom and Achitophel, the 
former counsellor of David [IT. Sam., xv.), a Biblical parallel 
sufficiently close for his purpose. The tremendous indictment 
of Shaftesbury in the passage quoted is a masterpiece of piti- 
less analysis and satiric portraiture. Shaftesbury's character 
and career have been much discussed : the student should com- 
pare the views expressed by Drvden with those of Macaulay, 
W. D. Christie. H. D. Tinill, and others. 

154. Unfixed in principles and place. See any life of Lord 
Shaftesbury for an account of the daring changes which 



JOHK DRYDEN 631 

ZZll Ser tuffeved, in u carmgcaccident, an mjury from 
^fU-m'T^^l^^^ZZrXoU. A •■ Triple Amance" 
.as*ctcl,uied bet...'eu Holland Sweden -d E-g-d" 
IRAK Thi^ " bond " was broken by an mtamous seciei iieaiy 

s-Toiv.''?e;';:e^^rir^;;i'or^^^^^ 
;;trfe^.;:yC.'S^s:^^^^^^^^^^ 

uess aud ability. 

A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY. 

same buu jet. t. v-^ fr>r ibis dav see Malone s ii-a. 



632 DKYDEi^ TO THOMSON 



is devoted to music iu its effects ou human emotions, or as the 
raiser and queller of human passions. 

1. From harmony, etc. This idea of the universe taking 
form out of a chaos of discordant atoms through the power of 
music, or harmony, is in general accord with the teachings of 
Pythagoras. That philosopher reverenced order as the central 
principle of the universe ; he consequently laid great stress on 
mathematics and on music, both being expressions of exact re- 
lations — or the order which he regarded as the basis of things. 
From these views grew his familiar doctrine of the " music of 
the spheres." (See Smith's Class. Diet., " Pythagoras," and 
Plato's Republic, Bk. X.) These ideas seem to have been fre- 
quently referred to by the English poets preceding Drydeu. 
(See Mercht. of Ven. V. 1. 66, and Milton's Hymn on the 
Nativity, XII., XIII.) In Par. Lost we have the same contrast 
between the order of creation and the waning elements of 
chaos. Dryden, 1. 7, "hot, cold, moist, and dry," follows 
Milton's description of chaos word for word. (See Par. Lost, 
II. 878.)— 2. This universal frame, i.e. the whole fabric of 
creation. (Cf. Par Lost, v. 153, "Thine universal frame thus 
wondrous fair," etc., and Addison, "The spacious firmament 
on high," p. 156.)— 15. Diapason. (Gr. 5zct = through, and 
Ttaicav = all.) Nature, or creation, proceeds as through the 
seven notes ot tlie musical scale, closing, or completing, the 
diapson, or octave, in man. — 17, Jubal, the inventor of tlie 
lyre and flute. (See Genesis iv. 19-21.) 

146.-33. Flute. The old English flute, or flute-a-hec, which 
was played from the end like our flugecjkt, must be here in- 
tended, as the modern, or German, flute did not come into use 
in Enghiud until some half a century later. This is worth 
noting, as one of the first occasions on which the modern flute 
was successfully introduced into an orchestral score was in 
Hmdel's musical setting of this Ode in 1639. He employed it 
for a solo in this stanza, — 47. To mend = to improve ox com- 
plete. The conceit is more daring than reverent. 

147. — 50. — Seqaacious. (Lat. sequax = following after, pur- 
suing.) The woi"d, according to our modern taste, gives the 
line a pedantic and decidedly uupoetic character. It is 
n )tablehere as just such a Laiinism as disfigured much of the 
English poetry of the earlier eighteenth century. We cannot 
imagine that any poet fro n Chaucei- to the last of the Eliza- 
bethans, or any poet (except a belated follower of Pope) from 
Wordsworth to our own day, would have employed such an 
expression: the brand of the eigiiteenth century is ou it. Cf. 
Cowper, Task : " The stable yields a stercoraceous heap," etc., 
etc. — 52. Vocal breath. Tiie primitive nature of the so-called 
organ associated with St. Cecilia may throw some light on this 



JOHN DRYDEN 633 

passage. Raphael's picture of tbe saiut with au organ made, 
iilie pipes, to be blown without any mechanical appliances, 
would make this idea familiar ; on the other hand the organ is 
still said, in the language of organ-builders, to "speak" and 
to "be voiced." — 53. An angel heard. This favorite incident 
in the legend of the saint is again alluded to by Dryden in the 
closing lines of Alexander's Feast, and by Teun} son in his 
Palace of Art : 

" Or in a clear-wall'd city on tlie sea. 
Near gilded organ-pipes, her hair 
Wound with white roses, slept St. Cecily; 
Au angel look'd at her. ' 

55. Grand chorus. This, by reverting again to the idea with 
which the poem began, gives a greater unity to the piece. 
Untune (1. 9) may really be considered as equivalent to dis- 
solve or discompose ; music is the essential principle which 
brought order out of chaos; and music, at the sound of the last 
trump, shall be the signal for the destruction of the harmony 
of the universe. 

ALEXANDER'S FEAST, OR THE POWER OF MUSIC. 

The immediate occasion of the composition of this ode, 
which lias probably retained its popularity better than any 
other single poem of its author, has been already stated (Int. 
note to Sojifffor St. Cecilia's Bay). According to Lord Boling- 
broke, Dryden sat up all night to write it, being so struck with 
the subject that he could not leave the poem until it was com- 
pleted. (See Wartou's Essay on Pope.) The real theme of the 
ode is given in the sub-title, and t lie circumstances under which 
the power of music is displayed are well chosen and highly 
dramatic. The world-conqueror, at the i innacle of his glory, 
is shown as himself conquered by and made subservient to the 
mightier power of song. Nevertliekss, while the ode com- 
mands our admiration for its resounding lines and splendid, if 
somewhat pompous, rhetoric, it fails to arouse our deeper feel- 
ings. Mr. Cburton Collins says with truth: " Ale^cander's Feast 
is a consummate example both of metrical skill and of \\ hat a 
combination of all the qualities which can enter into the com- 
positition of rhetorical masterpieces can effect. But it is noth- 
ing more." {Essays and Studies, p. 89.) 

1. For Persia won, i.e. the feast given on account of (or in 
celebration of) the conquest of Persia. The Persian Empire 
was finally overthrown by the battle of Arbela, B.C. 381, the 
third great battle of the invasion. — 9. Thais. An Athenian 
noted for her wit and beauty who accompanied Alexander on 
his expedition against Persia. According to a story of doubt- 



634 DKYDEK TO THOMSON 

ful authority she beguiled Alexander into setting fire to the 
royal palace of Darius at Persepolls while a great festival was 
being held and the king was under the influence of wine. (See 
Dr^^deii's aUusion to this in stanza 6.) 

148. — 20. Timotheus "A celebrated musician, a native 
of Thebes in Bceotia. He was one of those wlio were invited 
to attend at the celebration of the nuptials of Alexander the 
Great. He excelled particularly in playing on the flute ; and 
his perfonnmce is said to have animated tlie monarch in so 
powerful a degree that he started up and seized his arms — au 
incident which Dryden has beautifully introduced into Eng- 
lish poetry." (Anthon's Glass. Diet.) — 25. The song began from 
Jove, etc. Alexander claimed to be the son not of Philip of 
Macedou, but of Zeus himself. Plutarch — who says that Jove 
is supposed to have visited Olympias, Alexander's mother, in 
the form of a serpent — quotes Eratosthenes as saying " that 
Olympias, when she attended Alexander on his way to the 
army in his first expedition, told him the secret of his birth, 
and bade him behave himself with courage suitable to his 
divine extraction." ("Life of Alexander.") Shortly before 
the battle of Arbela, Alexander, apparently intoxicated by his 
successes, had consulted the famous oracle of Jupiter Ammou 
in the Libyan desert, where his claim to be the son of Zeus had 
received due recognition. Timotheus, with skilful flattery, 
begins by assuming the truth of Alexander's pretensions. — 
28. Belied = disguised. — 30. Olympia, i.e. Olympias, perh ips 
changed euphonm gratia to avoid a too sibilaut effect. 

150.— 108. Lydian measures. See U Allegro., 1. 136, and n. 

152. — 173. Vocal frame— " a speaking structure " (Hales.) 

153.— 181. Drew an angel down. See Song for St.Cecilia's 
Day, 1. 53 and u. 

PRIOR. 

154. Matthew Prioh (1664-1721) was a wit, ambas- 
sador, poet, story-writer, and man of affairs. Born shortly 
after the Restoration, he was employed in state affairs under 
William and during part of the reign of Anne. His first lit- 
erary success was in The City Mouse and the Country 
Mouse, written in conjunction with his friend Montague 
(afterwards Earl of Halifax) to ridicule Dry den's Hind and the 
Panther. Prior's reputation as a poet now rests almost en- 
tirely upon his shorter and slighter verse. He was one of the 
earliest masters of society verse in England, and anticipated 
by many years the lightness and dexterity of such moderns 
as Praed, Locker, and Dobson. A recent writer has pointed 
out that Thomas Moore has "more than once" reproduced the 



ADDISON 635 

very trick and turn of Prior's verse. (See A Better Answer, 
p. 155. Jno. Dennis, 27ie Age of Pope, p. 68.) The verses 2o 
a Child of Quality are less cynical and more pleasiug tbau 
most of bis work, but A Better Answer is probably a more 
representative example of his manner. 



ADDISON. 

156. Joseph Addison (1672-1719), although known to us 
as a master of prose, gained through his verse some successes 
which had a most important influence upon his career. This 
was notably the case with his poem to Somers, his Latin 
verses to Montague, his poem of The Campaign, which won 
him the favor of a Prime Minister and £200 a year, and his 
tragedy of Cato, which took the town by stoim. These poems, 
however, have had little lasting value. Outside of his 
prose, Addison's most enduring work is probably as a hymn- 
writer. Some of liis hymns are still sung, and continue part 
of tbe religious life of thousands, and in this jrovince of 
poetry he has been well called the forerunner of "Watts and 
Wesley. The Hymn or Ode selected as an example of Addi- 
son's verse, first appeared in The (Spectator, No. 465. In the 
essay which precedes the poem Addison is speaking of 
the glories of nature as a confirmation of faith in a Su- 
preme Creator. He then introduces the verses as follows : 
"... The psalmist has very beautiful strokes of poetry to this 
purpose in that exalted strain, * I'he heavens declare tbe glory 
of God : and the firmament sboweth his bandiwork One 
day telleth another: and one night certitietb another. There 
is neither speech nor language: but their voices are heard 
among them. Their sound is gone out into all the lands: 
and their words unto the ends of the world.' As sucb a bold 
and sublime manner of thinking furnished very noble matter 
for an ode, the reader may see it wrought into tbe following 
one." 

3. Frame. See 8onq for St. Cecilia's Bay, 1. 2, and note. 
Cf. Hamlet II. 2: "this good]y fra^ne the earth."— 4. Origi- 
nal = originator, first cause. Thus Chaucer speaks of glut- 
tony as the "original of our dampnacioun." {Pardoner's Tale, 
1. 38.) 

157, — 21. In reason's ear, etc. Music has been associated 
with the movements of the heavenly bodies by many writers 
and in many ways. We are told in the Bible how "The morn- 
ing stars sang together;" the Greeks philosophized about 
tbe music of tbe spTieres, and Shakespeare declares that only 
the gross flesh prevents us from hearing each single orb in its 



636 DRYDEN TO THOMSOK 

course, " still quiring to the yoiiug-eyed cherubim," But it 
was reserved tor Addison, the sober i)rose-poet of an age of 
good sense, to declare that these celestial rejoicings are audi- 
hle to the ear of reason. (See Dryden, St. Cecilia's Day, 
1. 1 and n.) 

GAY. 

John Gay (1688-1732), a man of easy-going temperament 
and careless good nature, was a friend of Pope's and one of 
the most popular poets of his time. His mock-heroic poem, 
Wine, appeared in 1710. He wrote several comedies, and his 
Beggars Optra (1727) scored a great success. His minute de- 
scriptions of London life, as in his Trivia, or the Art of Walk- 
ing the Streets of London (1716), have a permanent interest and 
value, Alihongh his song of Black-eyed Susan has been 
widely popular, it is distinctly of an inferior quality. The 
Fifty-one Fables in Verse (1727) are mildly amusing and not 
devoid of cleverness. 

FABLE XVIII. THE PAINTER, ETC. 
158.— 27. Bustos = busts (Ital. bnsto). 
ON A LAP-DOG 

160. — 15. Mechlin pinners. The long flaps belonging to a 
lady's headdress — which hang down each side of the face. 
These were made of, or sometimes trimmed with, lace. They 
are frequently mentioned in the literature of the period. — 24. 
For when a lap-dog falls, etc. Of. "Not louder shrieks to 
pitying heaven are cast, when husbands, or when lap-dogs 
breathe their last." {Rape of the Lock, III. 157.) 

POPE. 

160. Alexander Pope, the poc4ic successor of Dryden 
and the representative poet of the Augustan Age, was born iu 
1688 and died in 1744. His E>iS:ty on Criticism (1711) was 
enthusiastically received, and The Rape of the Lock (1712) and 
other poems placed him in the front rank of the poets of his 
time. In many respects he is obviously a follower of Dryden ; 
but he has more grace, sentiment, and delicacy of fancy, with 
far less intellectual force and masculine power. Both poets 
were satirists, both extensive translators from the classics; 
Dryden argued in verse on questions of theology, and Pope 



POPE 637 

attempted to expound a system of pliilosopby. But the works 
of Dryden coutain no parallel to The liape of the Lock, which 
has the diaphanous hues and lightness of a soap-bubble, or to 
the sentiment of The Elegy to an UuforiunatG Lady, or the 
Epistle from Eloua to Abelard. 

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 

This poem belongs to the earlier part of Pope's career, pre- 
ceding his satires and philosophic poems and his trnnslations 
of Homer. In its original and shorter form it appeared in 
Bernard Lintot's Miscellany in 1711-12. It was well leceived, 
and Pope determined to alter and enlarge it. He introduced 
the supernatural "machinery " of the sylphs and sylphids, the 
game of Ombre, and other new features, thus increasing tlje 
original two cantos to five. This second version appeared in 
1714. The poem, founded on an actual occurrence, was 
written at the request of a Mr. Caryl. One Lord Pet re con- 
trived to abstract a lock of Mistress Arabella Fermor's hair. 
The families of the daring lord and the offended beauty hav- 
ing been estranged, Mr. Caryl, anxious to restore jieace, asked 
Pope to write a poem which should suggest to both sides the 
absurdity of quarrelling over so trifling an affair. The result 
was a masterpiece, which, if not his most ambitious, is proba- 
bly Pope's most original and pleasing contribution to litera- 
ture. 

Catsito I. — 3. Caryll, u friend of Pope's who confided to 
him the incident on which the poem was founded. 

1(51.— 23. Birth night. Tlie dressing at court at the birth- 
niglit balls given to celebrate the birthdays of the members of 
tlie royal family, was unusually splendid.— 82. Silver token. 
The piece of money which the fairies were believed to drop in 
the shoe of the diligent housemaid as a reward. 

1<>2.— 44. Box. " The ' Box ' at the theatre and the ' EiJig ' 
in Hyde Park are frequently mentioned as the two principal 
places for the displiy of beauty and fashion." (Elwin.) 62. 
Tea. Pronouncid tay until the middle of the eighteenth cen- 
tury. (See English Fast and Piescnt, by R. C. Trench, p. 182.) 
In Canio III. 1, 8, tea ihymes with obey. — 58. To their first 
elements, etc. Pope hue makes skilful use of the doctrine 
attributed to a sect known as the Rosicrucians, who held that 
each of the four elements was inhabited by a distinct order of 
spirits. The idea of substituting the souls of deceased mortals 
for the elemental spirits is an ingenious variation of Pope's. 

163.^105, Protection claim = "claim to protect thee." 
The language here is, to say the least, ambiguous; on their 
face the words might mean ' claim to be protected by thee." 



638 DRYDEN TO THOMSOK 



165. Canto II.— 18. Look on her face. A better rendering 
has been suggested by Wakefield: "Look in ber face, and you 
forget them all." 

168. — 100. Furbelow. A pleated or gathered flounce. Dr. 
Johnson gives an impromptu derivation of this word {fur and 
below), with the following definition: "fur sewed on the 
lower part of the garment; an ornament." (Johnson's De'f*^. 
See also Spectator. No. 129.)— 113. The drops, "that is her ear- 
drops, set with brilliants." (Wakefield.) — 263. Do thou Crispissa. 
Note that the names of these spirits correspond to their several 
charges. Wakefield says that " to crisp " was frequently used 
by tlie earlier writers for "to curl" (Lat. crispo). 

169. Canto III.— 8 Tea. See C. I. 1. 62 and n. supra. 

170. — 27. Ombre. A game of cartis of Spanish origin. It 
was played by three persons, the one who named the trump 
(in this case Belinda) playing against the other two. — 53. Him 
Basto followed. To understand the following passage, some 
knowledgj of the game of ombre is required, for descrip- 
tion of which see H )yle's Games, under "Quadrille." The 
MitadovesSpadille, 01' "Sp^idiWio," MiiiUle, or " Manillio," 
and Bisto—weve the three principal cards, and ranked re- 
spectively as first, second, and third in power. Spndille was 
always the ace of spades, and Basto the ace of clubs; but 
Manille depended upon the trump. With a black trump 
(spades or clubs) Manille was the two of trumps ; with a 
red trump (hearts or diamonds) Manille was the seven of 
trumps. 

171. — 61. Pam, the highest card in the game of Loo, is 
the knave of clubs, or sometimes the knave of the trump suit. 

172. — 92. Codille. "If either of the antagonists made 
more tricks than the ombre (see n. C. III. I. 27, supra) the 
winner took the pool and the ombre had to replace it for the 
next game. This was called codille." (Elwia.) 

173. — 122. Scylla. See Anthon's Class. Diet, under 
"Nisus," and Ovid's Metim. VIII. The Scylla here mentioned 
must be distinguished fro n the monster of that name associ- 
ated with Charybdis in the Odyssey and elsewhere. 

174.— 165. Atalantis. The New Atlantis, pub. 1709, was 
a popular and scandalous book, suited, according to Warbur- 
ton, to the taste of the "better vulgar." Hales reminds us 
that it was one of the works in Leonora's librar3\ (See Spec- 
tator, No. 37.) — 178. Unresisted. That which cannot be re- 
sisted; irresistible. 

Canto IV. — 13. Umbriel. Lat. umbra, a shade, and um- 
brifer, shade-bringing. 

175. — 16. Spleen. An organ of the body whose function 
is uncertain ; formerly supposed to be the seat of anger, 



POPE 639 



caprice, and pniticularly low spirits, or, as we should say, "the 
blues." In Pope's time spleen was frequently used in the 
last sense, and Austin Dobson calls it the fashionable eigh- 
teenth-century disorder.— 20. The dreaded east, etc. Why the 
east wind? (Fee Cowper's Task, Bk. IV. 363.)— 38. Night- 
dress. " The gown or riiglit- dress of Pope is the dressing-gown 
of our day." (El win ) 

176. — 46. Angels in macnines, i.e., coming to the aid of 
mankind. In Pope's time "machine" signified the super- 
natural agency in a poem ; thus in The Eape of the Lock, the 
machinery consists of sylphs and sylphides ; in the Iliad, of 
gods and goddesses. "The changing of the Trojan fleet into 
water-nymphs is the most vioknt machine in the whole 
jEneid." (Addison.) Hales compares Lat. Deus ex machina 
and Greek Seoi a7r('//7;;fn7'f/5. — 59. Vapours = spleen. Elwin 
says the disease was probably named from the atmospheric 
vapors which were reputed to be a principal cause of English 
melancholy. He quotes Cowper's Task, Bk. VI. 462. — 
69. Citron-waters. A drink composed of wine with the rind 
of lemons and citron. Swift's Modern Yovng Lady takes a 
large dram of citron-water to cool her healed brains. 

177. — 99. Locks in paper. "The curl-papers of ladies' 
hair used to be fasliioned with strips of pliant lead." (Croker.) 

178.— 118. In the sound of Bow, i.e., within the sound of 
the bells of St. Mary le Bow, an old and famous church in 
the heart of London. In Pope's time the City, or old part of 
London in the vicinitj^ of this church, was avoided by fashion 
and the "wits." In Grub Street, in this locality, many starv- 
ing hack writers and scribblers had lodgings. — 121. Sir Plume 
= Sir George Brown. Speaking of the effect of tlie poem, 
Pope says: "Nobody but Sir George Brown was angry, and 
he was a good deal so and for a long time. He could not bear 
that Sir Plume should talk nothing but nonsense." (Spence's 
Anecdotes.) 

179.— 156. Bohea. Pronounced hohay. Compare tea, 
note to C. I. 1. 62. 

Canto V.— 6. Anna begg'd and Dido, etc. Look up this 
allusion in ^^neid, Bk. IV.— 7. Clarissa. "A new character 
introduced in the subsequent editions, to open more clearly 
the moral of the poem, in a parody of the speech of Sarpe- 
don to Glaucus in Homer." Pope. (See Lliad, Bk. XII. 
310-328.)- 14. Side-box. In the theatres the gentlemen occu- 
pied the side, and the ladies the front, boxes. 

181.— 45. Homer. Compare lliad.mi. VIII. 69-75; Verg. 
^'Eneid, Bk. XII. 725-727.-95. Bodkin. A large ornamental 
hairpin 

184. — 136. Rosamonda's Lake was a "small oblong piece 



640 DEYDEN TO THOMSON 



of wate: near the Pimlico gate of St. James Park." (Croker.) 
137. Partridge. Johu Partridge, an almauac-maker and 
astrologer U(;ied lor Lis ridiculous predictions. lie was 
ridiculed by Swift, Steele, Addison, and others. 

ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE 
LADY. 

184. — This poem and the Epistle of Eloim to Abelavd are 
memorable as excursions beyond the limits to which Pope's 
verse is almost invariably contiued. Critic, moralist, cynic, 
satirist, clever tritler, or philosophic disputant, Pope here 
comes before us as one who essays, at least, the language of 
genuine pathos ami passion. The feeling which animates 
these poems has seemed to some to have the unmistaliablc 
accent of sincerity; others, again, regard the poems as skil- 
ful poetic exercises, rather than the utterance of the heart. In 
either case it can hardly be denied that they are distinguished 
by a finish of workmanship which gives them a beauty of a 
certain kind. The poems first appeared in a collecletl volume 
of Pope's verse which was i)ublished in 1717. Tiie subject of 
the Elegy is not particularly clear, but we gather that it is 
supposed to be founded upon the appariuon of an unfortunate 
lady who, persecuted by her guardian, has committed suicide 
in a foreign land. Further than this the story is not told with 
sufficient definileness to be entirely clear. The lady's crime 
is that she aspired too iiigh and loved too well. The reason 
for the guarilian's .dlegcd severity is not made apparent. Nor 
are the obsciiiilies of the story explainable upon the theory 
that Pope's verses were inspired by some actual occurrence, the 
details of which he did not choose to reveal. Numerous at- 
tempts were made by the earlier critics to ascertain or to manu- 
facture the original of Pope's portrait, but with no satisfactory 
result. It is, apparently, a "mere study in emotional charac- 
terization," and if there are defects or obscurities in the nar- 
rative, Pope ai)pears to be solely responsible for them. In 
fact, the merit of the poem consists neither in its con.struction 
nor in its molality, which, as Dr. Johnson pointed out, is fault3\ 
but in the sweetness of its rhythm and the general beauty of 
its execution. 

EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT. 

188. — The following brief account of this poem is taken 
from Leslie Stephen's Pope {E. M. L. 182): "Bolingbroke, 
coming one day in his (Pope's) room, took up a Horace, and 
observed that the first satire of the second book would suit 



POPE 641 

Pope's style. Pope translated it in n morning or two, and 
sent it to press almost immediately (173^). . . . This again led 
to bis pulling together 'fhe Epistle to Arbuihnot, which in- 
cludes the bitter attack upon Hervey, as pari of a general 
apologia pro vita sua." Dr. Arbuthnot. — A !S(0tch physician, 
wit, and author, who had early settled in London and had be- 
come physician in ordinary to the Queen. He was one of 
the inner circle of London wits; intimate with Pope, ISwift, 
Gay, and other men of letters, and — with Pope and Swift — one 
of the f.iunders of the Scriblerus Club. As the poem intimates, 
he was Pope's own physician. 1. Good John.— Pope's faithful 
servant John Searle. 

181>. — 8. My grot. Pope's famous grotto at Twickenham 
was really a tunnel, adorned with pieces of spar, mirrors, etc., 
leading under a piiblic I'oad that intersected the poet's 
grounds. (See Carruther's Life of Pope, V. 1. 171-177, Bolin's 
ed. — 13. The Mint. A district in Soulhwark, so called from 
a mint for (oiuage established here by Henry VIII. in Suffolk 
House. As persons were exempt from arrest within this 
district, it became another Alsalia, a place of refuge for 
insolvent debtors and criminjds. As may be supposed, poor 
authors often had to take sanctuary there. A good account 
of it is given in Thornbury's Old and New London, V. VI. 
p. 60. — lo. Is there a parson, etc. Supposed to be one Law- 
rence Eusdeu, rector of a parish in Lincolnsliire. — Bemused = 
befogged, muddled. — 23. Arthur = Arthur Moore, Esq.. a 
prominent figure in the political and social life of the time. His 
giddy son was James Moore Smythe, a dissipated fop, who 
had e.xcited Pope's petty and easily-provoked resentment by 
inserting without permission some then un|)ublished lines of 
Pope's into his comedy the liival Modes. (See ''Smythe " in 
L. Stephen's Diet. Nat. Biog.) — 25. Poor Cornus. According 
to Horace Walpole, Cornus was Lord Robert Walpole, a son 
of the Prime Minister. Lord liobert's wife, Margaret, a 
daughter of Samuel Rolle, Esq., left her husband in 1734. — 
31. I'm sped, i.e., ruined, undone ; our modern phrase "done 
for" is perhaps the nearest equivalent. (Cf. Shaks. "1 am 
sped," liomeo and Juliet, 111. 1. 94 ; Taming of the Shreic, 
III. 2. 53 ; and see Lycidus, n. to 1. 122, supra.) 

190. — 40. Keep your piece, etc. The famous precept of 
Horace, Ars Foetica, 1. 388, '' vonumque prematur in annum." 
— 41. Drury Lane, a fashiomible quarter in the days of the 
Stuarts, had become the abode of vice, poverty, and impe- 
cunious authors, even before Pope's time. Gay spi aks of the 
dangers of its "mazy courts and dark abodes," and Goldsmith 
alludes to it in uncomplimentary terms in his Description of 
an Author' s Bedchamber . — 43. Before Term ends, "i.e., before 



642 DRYDEN TO THOMSON 



the end of tbe London Season. Trinity Term ended three 
weeks, or thereabouts, after Trinity Sunday." (Pattison.) — 
49. Pitholeon. The name is taken from Horace, Sat. 1. 10, 22, 
where a certain Pitholeon of Rhodes, a poet who gloried in 
mixing Greek and Latin in his epigrams, is alluded to. — 
53. Curll. Edmund CuiU (1675-1747), a contemptible book- 
seller, with whom Pope was on bad terms for twenty years. 
He published Pope's Familial' Letters to Henri/ Cromwell in 
1726, as Pope affected to believe without authority. Pope 
attacks him in a disgusting passage in the Bunciad. He was 
notorious for his harsh tieatment of the hack- writers whom he 
employed ; for his unscrupuiousness in business ; and for the 
vile character of some of his publications. — 56. A Virgin tra- 
gedy. " Alludes to a tragedy called The Virgin Queen, by 
M. R. Barford, publis'ied 1729, who displeased Pope by 
daring to adopt the fine machinery of his Sylphes in an heroi- 
comical poem called the Assembly." (Warton.) — 62. Lintot. 
Bernard Lintot (1675-1736) was a leading bookseller of the 
day. He published Pope's Bape of the Lock and his trans- 
lations of Homer. Pope quarrelled with him over some busi- 
ness in connection with the translation of the Odyssey and 
abused him in the L>u?iciad.—QQ. Go snacks, i e., go shares, 
divide the spoils. Snack is a portion, or "literally a snatch 
or thing snatched up." (See Skeal, Etymol. Diet.) 

lt>l.— 111. One from all Grub Street. Grub Street is de- 
fined by Dr. Johnson as "originally the name of a street in 
Moorfields in London, much inhabited by writers of small 
histories, dictionaries, and temporary poems ; whence any 
mean production is called Grub Street." According to 
Courthope the allusion here is probably " to the Grub Street 
Journal, the plan of which was to attack Pope's enemies by 
ironically praising them, and at the same time affecting to 
depreciate the poet's own works."— 113. This prints my letter. 
Another thrust at Curll, see n. 53, supra. — 116. I cough like 
Horace, etc. Direct evidence of Horace's cough appears to 
be wanting; we know, however, that he was short and fat. 
(Suetonius, Vit. Horatii, Epistles I. 20. 24, and L 4. 15.) — 
117. Ammon's great son, i.e., Alexander the Great, who is 
known to have boasted that he was in reality the son of the 
Egyptian deity Ammon or Amen, the same^ god whom the 
Greeks identified with Zeus under the name of Jupiter Ammon. 
(See account of Alexander's visit to the oracle of Ammon.) 
Alexander's neck is reported to have been " a little inclined 
towards his left shoulder." — 118. Ovid's nose. Apparently an 
allusion to the poet's family name. He was called P. Ovidius 
Naso {nusus = large-nosed). — 161. Commas and points. Pope 
himself declared that his great ambition as a poet was to be 



POPE 643 



correct and in this he merely represented the characteristic 
aspiration of his time. Yet even among the high priests of 
correctness we find the idea that correctness was the only- 
essential, held up to ridicule. Cf. Addison's portrait of Ned 
Softly. The Tatler, No. 163. 

192.— 179. The Bard, etc.. i.e., Ambrose Philips (1675?- 
1749), a poet and one of JPope's many enemies. Philips's Pas- 
torals and Pope's Pastorals appeared in the same collection 
{Tonson's Miscellany, 1709), and certain compliments to this 
rival work of Philips' so excited Pope's moibidly jealous tem- 
per that he wrote a paper for 77te Guardian, in which Philips' 
Pastorals and his own were ironically compared. — 180. A 
Persian tale. Philips was liberally paid (according to Dr. 
Johnson's opinion) for this work, since he may have received 
half a crown, not for the translation, but for each section into 
which it was divided. (See Johnson's Lives of the Poets, Life 
of Philips.)— 190. A Ta^te. Nahum Tate (1652-1715) succeeded 
Shad well as poet laureate in 1692. He wrote most of the 
second part of Absalom and Achitophel and made a number 
of translations from the classics. Pattison reminds us that, 
as Pope's own success had been largely due to his translations 
of Homer, the sneer at translators is particularly ill-timed. 
— 193. One whose fires. This masterly but grossly unjust and 
mendacious attack upon Addison (Atticus), Pope's former 
friend, is one of the most justly familiar passages in all his 
work. Pattison says of these lines: "They are at once a 
masterpiece of Pope's skill as a po( t, and his base disposition 
as a man. They unite the most exquisite finish of sarcastic 
expression with the venomous malignity of peisonal rancour." 
The lines were included in the Prologue to the Satires as an 
afterthought. They were written earlier and sent to Addison, 
and they were first published as a fragment in 1727. We are 
told that they were in great demand, and Atterbury was so 
much impressed by them that he advised Pope to devote his 
efforts to satire. Macaulay says of the passage : " One charge 
which Pope has enforced with great skill is probably not with- 
out foundation. Addison was, we are inclined to believe, too 
fond of presiding over a circle of humble friends. Of the 
other imputations which these famous lines are intended to 
convey, scarcely one has ever been proved to be just, and 
some are certainl}'^ false. That Addison was not in the habit 
of 'damning with faint praise ' appears from innumerable pas- 
sages in his writings, and from none more than from those in 
wiiich he mentions Pope. And it is not merely unjust, but 
ridiculous, to describe a man who made the fortune of almost 
every one of his intimate friends, as ' so obliging that he ne'er 
obliged.'" (Fi^^^hy o\-\ Addison. See also Spence's J.wtfcdc>i««, 
and ' Pope ' in Thackeray's English Humorists.) 



THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

(ciR. 1730— ciR. 1830.) 
THE POETS OF THE MODERN PERIOD. 

195. — The modern period of English poetry has its rise 
during the early half of the eighteenth century, in a divergence, 
more and more radical as the ceutury advances, from the form, 
the spirit, and the literary standards exemplitied by Pope and 
dominant in his time. It is customary to associate the begin- 
ning of this fresh poetic current with the work of two Scotch- 
men, Allan Ramsay (1685-1758) and James Thomson (1700- 
1748). Some of the distinctive qualities of this new poetry 
were a more genuine pleasure in nature and country-life, a 
deeper sympathy with all forms of su .eriug in man or in ani- 
mals, a growing reverence for human nature, a revival of the 
old delight in Elizabethan literature, and the introduction of 
more varied and less mechanical metrical forms in place of 
the heroic couplet. {Int. Eng. Lit. 255-282.) The presence 
and increase of these and other allied qualities will be ap- 
parent from a careful consecutive reading of the selections. 
From Thomson to Burns the trend in the direction just indi- 
cated steadily becomes more apparent. All these poets are 
poets of nature, each in his own manner and degree : Collins, 
Gray, and Burns are manifestly preeminent in iheir lyrical 
gift ; while Thomson, Gray, Cowper, and Burns show both 
the gathering spirit of tenderness and the feeling of the new 
democracy. In Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, and Scott, 
the break with the outworn standards of Pope's day became 
complete. The poets from Byron to the advent of Tennyson 
may likewise be roughly grouped together. Many of them 
were obviously influenced by the spirit of that seething, rebel- 
lious, and morbidly melancholy time, when the agitations that 
followed the Frencli Revolution were slowly subsiding, and 
democracy gathering force for another advance. With the 
advent of Tennyson, about 1830, we enter the threshold of our 
own time. 

644 



THOMSOlf 645 



THOMSON. 



195.— James Thomson (1700-1748) was born at Ednam, 
Roxburghshire, where his father was the parish minister. This 
Border regiou, separated from England by the Cheviot Hills, 
lies immediately to the east of Ayrshire, the district which 
fifty-nine years hiter gave birth to Burns. During his youth, 
spent in these unconfined and beautiful surroundings, Thom- 
son was far removeci from that circle of wits and satirists tluit 
from the heart of London dominated English letters. Tlius 
early familiar with nature, it Wiis Thomson's mission to freshen 
and sweeten the close and vitiated air of English poetry with 
the free air and wholesome sunshine of the open fields. 
"Winter," the first instalment of The Seasons, was published 
in 1726; " Spring" and "Summer" followed in 1727 and 1728, 
and the concluding part, "Autumn," in 1730. Like many 
other writers of his time, Thomson tried his hand at the drama, 
but with small success. Bule Britannia, the national song of 
England, appeared first in a masque produced by him in 1740, 
and has escaped the oblivion which has overtaken his dra- 
matic productions. In The Castle of Indolence (1748) he em- 
ployed the stanza of iSpcuser, and also followed him in diction 
and manner. This and The Seasons are his most important 
poems. 

THE SEASONS. 

SPRING. 

16. Livid. The use of this word here is, from our associations 
with it, hardly a happy one. The idea appears to be that, con- 
trasted with the white of the dissolving snows, the streams 
look lead-colored or bluish-bhick. 

196. — 26. Aries, the Ram, is the first of the signs of the 
Zodiac, and Taurus, or the Bull, the second. About thirty 
days would elapse between the time the sun is at the first 
point of Aries (or the time when the sun crosses the equator 
towards the north) and the time of its entrance into Taurus. 
Consequently the date the poet wishes to indicate is about a 
month after the vernal equinox (March 21st), or the latter part 
of April. — 55. Maro = Vergil, whose full name was Publius 
Vergilms Maronis. The reference is to the Georgics. 

197.-60. And some, etc. Probably a reference to the 
familiar story of Cincinnatus. The prophet Elisha (7. Kings 
XXX. 19) may have been one of those in the poet's mind in the 
earlier passage.— 70-72. As the sea . . . your empire owns, etc. 



646 THOMSON TO TEKNTSON 

It should be remembered that Euglaud was not at this time 
(1728) the world-power which she was shortly destined to be- 
come. The fight for the supremacy iu India and America had 
yet to be fought. Nevertheless, when Thomson wrote, the 
foundations of her world-trade were being laid under the sa- 
gacious management of Walpole, and the passage has an in- 
terest through its bearing on the commercial conditions of the 
time. Cf. Autumn, 117 et seq. 

198.— 108. Augusta = London. (See n. to Dryden's Mac 
Flecknoe, 1. 64.) Many elevations on the outskirts of London 
would have afforded a good view of the fields in Thomson's 
time. 

SUMMER. 

199,-378. People. Seldom used except of human beings; 
compare, however, " The ants are a ^eo/j^a not strong, yet they 
prepare their meats in the summer." [Prov. xxx. 25.)— 386, 
Sordid, here = dirty {obs.). 

AUTUMN. 

200.^3. The Doric reed, i.e., the pipe, or oaten reed, of the 
pastoral poet. Rustic and pastoral poetry was associated with 
the Dorians, and especially with the Dorians in Sicily. See 
Lycidas, n. to 1. 189. 

201.— 957. Fleeces unbounded ether. A unique, or at least 
an unusud, use oi fleeces. The sense is that the calm spreads 
over the boundless atmosphere as soft as a fleece of wool. (See 
Genty. Did.) 

WINTER. 

202. — 5. Welcome, kiudred glooms !, etc. Winter was the 
first of the four poems on The Seasons to be composed. It was 
begun in a period of depression, just after Thomson had given 
up a tutorship which he had regarded as a desirable opening. 
He was " without emplojnneut, without money, with few 
friends, [and] saddened by the loss of his mother." "This pas- 
sage," says Miiito, "expressed his own forU)rn mood on the 
approach of the winter of 1725."— 8. Nursed by careless soli- 
tude, etc. Thomson, born in the Scottish Border country 
near the waters of tlie Tweed, passed his youth in the freedom 
and beauty of that fascinating region. Dr. Johnson tells us 
that Thomson while a schoolboy at. Jedburgh, a town in that 
vicinity, was given to poetical composition. 

203.— 224. Livid. See n. to Spring, 1. 16, swpm.— 246. The 
red-breast, etc. To appreciate the accuracy of this beautiful 
description, we must remember that the English robin (which 



COLLINS 647 

is, of course, the bird here referred to) is a different bird from 
its American namesake. Its trust in man, its timid entrance 
into human dwellings, enforced by the rigors of winter, are 
well-recognized facts. The peculiar understanding subsisting 
in England between man and this familiar bird is perhaps 
reflected in the well-known ballad, where the robins cover the 
lost children with leaves. 

205. — 356. The social tear ... the social sigh, i.e., the tear 
or sigh prompted by sympathy with or compassion for society 
at large. Cf. Pope, Essay on Man, IV. 396. "That true self- 
love and social are the same." — 359. The generous band, etc. 
That is, a Parliamentary Committee appointed at the instance 
of Oglethorpe (afterwards founder of Georgia) to investigate 
the condition of tLe Fleet and Maishalsea prisons. This com- 
mittee began its work in 1729. Thomson does not exaggerate 
the horrors which this inquiry disclosed. In the allusion to 
"little tyrants" (367) the poet probably had in mind one, 
Thomas Bambridge, then warden of the Fleet, a brutal and 
despotic man who wrung exorbitant fees from the wretched 
inmates. This passage does not appear in the original version 
of Winter, 1726, which was considerably shorter than that 
with which we are familiar. The first version, it will be ob- 
served, was published some three years before the events here 
referred to took place, and the fact that these lines are a later 
insertion explains an apparent discrepancy in dates. 



COLLINS. 

207.— William Collins (1721-1759), whose poetry, in- 
significant in amount and restricted in range, yet includes some 
of the most exquisitely finished and unobtrusively beautiful 
lyrics in the language, was born in Chichester, Sussex. His 
poetic faculty early declared itself. Born when the superi- 
ority of reason and "good sense " to emotion and imagina- 
tion, was preached and exemplified in high places, Collins (in 
Dr. Johnson's phrase) " delighted to rove through the me- 
anders of enchantment " and "gaze on the magnificence of 
golden palaces," The spell of the gorgeous East mysteriously 
took hold of him, and he wrote his Persian Eclogues (pub. 
1742) while yet at school at Winchester. He came to London 
about 1744, determined to devote himself to literature and full 
of " projects." His Odes on Several Descriptive and Allegoric 
Subjects, etc., appeared at the close of 1746 (dated 1747), pre- 
ceding by a few months only the poetic advent of Gray. 
Wide as were the differences in life and character between 
these two poets, the two gieatest lyric voices of their time, in 



648 THOMSON" TO TENNYSON 



their fame and in their work for English poetry they nre not 
divided. Two of Collins' important odes, the one on the death 
of his friend the poet Thomson, the other On the Popular 
Superstitions of the Uightamls of Scotland, belong to a later 
date (1748 and cir. 1749) than the collection first mentioned. 
Readers of Collins' own generation, accustomed to verse of a 
wholly diiferent order, were naturally incapable of appreciat- 
ing the subtle and elusive charm that emanates from his best 
work, bat in our own time all true lovers of what is excellent 
in English poetry recognize and admire the soft and often 
intricate harmonies, the indescribable delicacy and refinement 
of his verse. The career of Collins was brief, his end melan- 
choly. In less than ten 3'^ears from the time he came to Lon- 
don, full of great plans, his life was shipwrecked, his health 
gone, his mind in ruins. After six years of a living death, he 
died in obscurity at the age of thirty-eight. 

ODE TO EVENING. {Odes, 1746.) 

207. — By our power to discern and to delight in the 
beauty of the Ode to Evening, we may test our power of ap- 
prehending and appreciating poetic excellence in its finer and 
less obvious forms The poem has a marvellous and artistic 
harmony of tone and color : nowhere is there a discordant 
note, a too glaring tint. The "sedge," the " lone heath," the 
" cool gleam " of the lake among the giay uplands, the 
"hamlets brown." the " dim discovered s[)ires," all the ele- 
men is in the landscape, — with its tender, neutral color-tones, 
— insensibly bring us into the living presence of Twilight. 
The spirit of Twilight, revealed under the varied aspects of 
the changini^ year, — with the stillness and diffused clearness 
of Summer's lingering light, with the showers of Spring, the 
heaped leaves of Autumn, or the blasts of Winter, — this spirit 
is part of the very breath and essence of the poem. No 
didactic moraliziugs. no appropriate reflections are needed: 
the poem itself awakens twiliuht-thoughts in us, it puts us into 
the twilight-mood as inevitably as Nature herself would do, 
and, as with Nature, an influence is communicated that cannot 
be formally expressed. 

1. Oaten stop. Strictly speaking, the stops are the holes in 
a pipe, or " ventages " as Hamlet calls them, the opening and 
closing of which make the notes. Oaten stop hei'e stands for 
the shepherd's pipe, made of the reed or oaten straw. It is the 
Avena, or oaten straw, of Vergil {Eel. I. 2), Cf. also Love's 
Lab. Lost, V. 2. 913 : " When shepherds pipe on oaten straios" ; 
and the oaten flute of Milton {Lycidas, 1. 33). — 15. Now teach 
me, etc. This is directly dependent on " If aught of oaten 



COLLINS 649 



stop," etc., but the uuuiber of interveuiug lines, and tLe in- 
tricacy of the construction, aie apt to make a hasty reader 
overlook the connection and miss the sense. The idea is, if a 
pastoral sonj^ may soothe thee, now teach me, O Eve, as I 
hail thy return, to breathe some such softened strain. 

THE PASSIONS : AK ODE FOR MUSIC. 

209. This poem was included in the book of Odes of 1747. 
It was set to music by William Hayes, and produced at Ox- 
ford in 1750. Collins, says Lowill, was the first to rediscover 
" the long-1. St secret of being classically elegant without being 
pedantically cold." From this aspect lite Passions can be 
advantjigoously compared with the stiffer and more sonor- 
ous rhetoric of Alexander's Ftast. The poem shows Collius' 
power of clothing abstractions with a definite form and per- 
sonality, a ])ower in which he follows Sackville and Spenser. 
But admirable as it is, 27ie Passions is not the supreme effort 
of Collins' genius ; it is surpassed by the quieter bciiuty of 
such poems as the Ode to Evening and the Ode Written in 
1746, a beauty which seems to shun rather than to challenge 
our admiration, and so wins us by its apparent unconscious- 
ness. 

3. Shell = lyre. The primitive lyre was supposed to have 
been made by drawing strings across the shell of a tortoise. 
(Cf. Dry den. Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1. 17.) 

211. — 58. Melancholy. This conception of Melancholy, 
with her love of soliiude and her "pensive soul," follows 
closely after that of Milton's in II Penseroso. (See note to that 
poem. 1. 11.) Similarly the com pan ion -figure of Cheerfulness 
(1. 70) may be compared with the Mirth of IJ Allegro. 

212.— 95. Sphere-descended maid. See n. on Dryden's 
Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1. — 105. Arise, as in that elder time. 
Poetry, the "recording sister," tells of such wonders wiought 
by music in the "god-like nge " as the building of Thebes by 
the strains of Amphion's lyre, and Collins complains that 
then "the humblest reed " had more power than all " Cecilia's 
mingled world of sound" (i.e., the organ) in his own " laggaid 
age." This is either a mere poetic exaggeration, introduced 
for effect, or else Collins was singularly uninformed or un- 
appreciative of the advance which music was making in Lon- 
don at that very time. Three years before Collins published 
his Odes Plandel's Messiah had been produced in London and 
was received witli eulhusiasm ; indeed most of Handel's 
greatest works were produced between 1739 and 1751. 



650 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



ODE WRITTEN IN 1746. 

213. This lament is cousidered by Mr. Edmund Gosse 
to be one of tlie two poems which "perhaps present" Collins' 
"delicate art of melody in its directest form." When it was 
composed, Euglaud was engaged in war both at home and 
abroad. She was taking part in the war of the Austrian Suc- 
cession (1740-1748), and at home she was engaged in suppress- 
ing the Jacobite rebellion of 1745. The j)oem was written "in 
the beginning of 1746." The Jacobite victory of Falkirk was 
January 17th, and the crushing Jacobite defeat of Ciilloden 
April 16th, of that year. 

DIRGE IN CYMBELINE. 

For the event which gave rise to this poem, see Cymheline, 
A. IV. Sc. 2, It may perhaps have been still more directly 
suggested by the following words of Arviragus over Fidele's 
(or Imogen's) grave, in the scene just referred to : 

" With fairest flowers, 
Wliile summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
I'll sweeten thy sad grave : thou shalt not lack 
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose;" etc. 

13. The red-breast oft, etc. See n. on the The Seasons, "Win- 
ter," 1. 246. 

GRAY. 

214. Thomas Gray (1716-1771), the author of some of the 
most finished, famous, and familiar short poems in the lan- 
guage, was a man of delicate health, shy habit, and refined 
and scholarly tastes. He was sent to Eton in 1727, where 
Horace Walpole, the son of the great Prime Minister, and 
Richard West were among his most intimate friends. He left 
Eton in 1734, and after spending about five years at Cam- 
bridge, went on a European tour with Horace Walpole. He 
quarrelled with Walpole, and returned to England in 1741. In 
the 3'^ear following he spent some time at Stoke Pogis, a vil- 
lage in Buckinghamshire, some four miles from Eton. Here 
is the old parish church with its "ivy-mantled tower " and 
peaceful graveyard, which is generally cousidered to have 
been the scene of his Elegy. Here he composed his Ode on a 
Distant Prospect of Eton College. We must try to enter into 
Gray's situation at this time, lo take account of all the in- 
fluences at work upon him, if we would understand the mood 
which inspired the poem last named. He had come back into 



GRAY 651 

the vicinity of bis scboolboy days after an absence of eight 
years. Wbile thus brought face to face with the past through 
the influence of association, the recollections of those early 
days thus vividly reawakened had been saddened and embit- 
tered by two painlul occurrences. One of these had but just 
taken place, while the other was still comparatively recent. 
The first was the death of Richard West, with whom Gray 
had continued on terms of affectionate intimacy ; the second 
the breach with Walpole alluded to above. Memories of 
death and estrangement, — the sorrows which come as an in- 
evitable sequence to the unreflecting happiness of boyhood, — 
thus give the poem its pervading and sombre coloring. The 
Eton College ode was published in 1747, and was Gray's first 
public appearance. It was received with coldness and in- 
difference. Gray had settled again in Cambridge in 1742, and 
there (except for brief and occasional absences) he spent the 
remainder of his life; a shy, sensitive, secluded scholar, read- 
ing much and writing little. He was buried in the "country 
churchyard " at Stoke Pogis. 

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. 

(See also remarks on this poem in sketch of Gray, supra.) 

^\4t, — 1. Ye distant spires, Mr. Gosse says that in 
Gray's own MS., which he has examined, the title reads Ode 
on a distant prospect of Eton College, Windsor, and the adjacent 
country. The addition further emphasizes the fact that the 
poet views the scene from a sufficient distance to command a 
view not of Eton alone, but of a wide surrounding prospect. 
The towers of Windsor crown a height on the southern side of 
the Thames ; immediately across the stream is Eton College, 
with Stoke Pogis still farther to the north. There is a ridge 
in the neighborhood of that village from which the ground 
slopes southward to the river. From this ridge, therefore. 
Gray could command a view of the distant spires of Eton with 
the antique towers of Windsor rising behind, — 4. Henry's holy 
shade. Eton College was founded in 1440, by Henry VI., 
whose mild and saintly character is here alluded to. Cf. 
Gray's reference to him in The Bard: "And spare the 
meek usurper's holy head."— 9. Father Thames, Dr. Johnson 
has the following characteristic comment : "The 'Prospect 
of Eton College' suggests nothing to Gray which every 
beholder does not equally think and feel. His supplication to 
Father Thames, to tell him, who drives the hoop or tosses the 
ball, is useless and puerile. Father Thames has no better 
means of knowing than himself." ("Gray" in Lims of the 
Poets.) 



652 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



215. — 12. Margent Green. Milton's phrase. See Echo's 
Soug ia Comus, p. 124 Murm'ring labours, i.e., some are 
studying their lessons by the time-honored method of repeat- 
ing them over and over in a monotonous sing-song. 

ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 

217. This little maslerpiece, which, it has been asserted, is 
" for its size the most i)opular poem ever written in any lan- 
guage," was elaborated with the most patient and fastidious 
care. Begun at Sioke Pogis in 1742, it was finished at tlie 
same place in 1750, Gray having apparently labored at it dur- 
ing the interval at Cambridge and, possibly, elswhere. It was 
published in 1751, and, unlike the Eton College ode, achieved 
a success wliich was as immediate as it was surpri>ing to 
its author. From that time until now its fame has suffered 
none of the usual alternations, and it has continued to be the 
familiar delight of successive generations. Professor Henry 
Reed remarked that no English poem had been translated into 
so m;my languages ; while Professor Gosse has recently de- 
clared that it "has exercised an influence on all the poetry of 
Europe, from Denmark to Italy, from France to Russia." 
The famous line of Vergil's which Gray thought of adopting 
as a motto for the poem, 'Sunt laehrymoB reriim, et mentern 
mortalia ianguiit" (The tears of the world are here, and mor- 
tal things touch the mind), this line embodies, as Gray per- 
ceived, one great reason for the poem's popularity. But it is 
not merely that in the poem Death, the great uuescapable fact 
of human life, makes its universal appeal to the mind ; it is 
the beauty and appropriateness of the time and plnce, in perfect 
keeping with these reflections, the hush of twilight and the 
nameless spell of rural England, that, pervading the whole 
poem, give it its distinctive charm. Notable also is the 
wholly democratic character of its feeling. Unlike Shirley's 
splendid lines, it shows lis death as the conqueror, not of kings, 
but of peasatits. and the deepest pathos of the poem is inter- 
woven with the thoiight of the narrow interests, the restricted 
opportunities, of those whose little djiy is over. Perhaps 
Burns the ploughboy, with all his hearty human fellowship, 
never spoke so directly to the uinversal human sympathy as 
did Gray the scholar, alienated all his days from the common 
interests of the men about him, and thus reaching the general 
heiirt of man once and once only. 

217.— 1. The curfew tolls, etc. Gray acknowledged that 
this line was an imitation of the beautiful opening of the 
eighth canto of Dante's Purgatorio : 

" Se ode aquilhi di lonfano, 
Che paia il giorno pianger che si muore : " 



GRAY 653 



i.e., the pilgrim llirills 



" If he hear the vesper bell from far 
That seems to mourn for the expiring day." 

(Ciiry's trans.) 

The identity of Gray's image with that of Daute becomes 
more apparent when we realize that the word parting (or 
departing) is here used in the sense of dying, as 1. Henry VI., 
II. 5: "And peace, no war, before W\y parting &o\\\." Gray 
told Nicholls that he had first written dying day and then 
changed it io parting. Cf. Byron, Don Juan, Canto III. 108, 
when the twilight hour 

" Fills with love the pilgrim ou his way 

As the far bell of vesper makes him start, 
Seeming to weep the dying day's decay.'" 

2. Wind. " Wind, not winds, is the leading of all the MSS. 
and of all the early editions, — that of 1768, Mason's, Wake- 
field's, Malhias's, etc., — but we find no note of the fact in Mit- 
ford's or any other of the more recent editions, which have sub- 
stituted winds. Whetherthe change was made as an amendment 
or accidentally we do not know ; but the original reading 
seems to us by far the better one. 'Ihe poet does not refer to 
the herd as an aggregate, but to the animals thjit compose it. 
He sees, not it, but them, on their winding way," (Rolfe.) 

218. — 13. Beneath those rugged elms. 'Ashe stands in 
the churchyard, he thinks only of the poorer people . . . be- 
cause the better-lo-do lay interred inside the church. , . . 
In Gray's time, and long before, and some time after it, the 
former resting place was for the poor, the latter for the rich." 
(Hales.)— 20. Their lowly bed. This does not mean the grave, 
but is rather to be taken literally. The sense becomes clearer 
if we connect the verse, not with the " narrow cell " of the one 
preceding, but with the stanza immediately following. 

219.— 43. Provoke, i.e., call forth (Lat. pro-vocare). — 59. 
Milton. This passage contains two of Gray's many alterations. 
According to Mitford the names of Milton and of Cromwell 
were here substituted for those of Tully (Cicero) and Ccesar, 
It must be remembered that when Gray wrote, and for lon^ 
after, Cromwell was commonly regarded as a monster of hy- 
pocrisy and unscrupulous ambition. 

220.— 83. Holy text. Mitford says on this passage : " As 
this construction is not, as it now stands, correct, I think that 
Gray originally wrote ' to teach,' but altered it afterwards 
euphonia gratia, and made the grammar give way to the sound." 
—85. For who, to dumb for getfulness, etc. Cf. Par. Lost, Bk. II, 
1. 146. 

221.— 93. For thee; that is, Gray himself. How far we 



654 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



are justified in concluding that the poet intended here to de- 
scribe his own life and character is an open question ; but the 
youth's broodiag nielauchol}' and his fondness for solitude and 
nature are certainly in keeping with Gray's character. — 119. 
Fair science, i.e., knowledge, learning. 

THE BARD. 

222. The Bard was published with Gray's ode on The 
Progress of Poesy in 1757. Readers of that time, who passed 
for persons of some cultivation, found both poems very 
obscure, and Gray was induced to add explanatory notes to a 
subsequent edition (1768). 

In form The Bard is Pindaric, that is, it follow^s the odes of 
Pindar in its general metrical arrangement. Many of the best 
English odes are irregular, the endeavor being to make the 
metrical movement vary with the emotion, llie Bard is a 
regular ode ; but the regularity of its form does not consist in 
the uniformity of its stanzas, but in the uniformity of the 
groups of stanzas into which the poem is divided. There are 
three such stanzaic groups in the poem, each composed of 
three stanzas, and each group conesponding metrically with 
tbe rest. The form is a highly artificial one, and critics justly 
doubt whether it is one really adapted to our language. Theo- 
dore Watts has said that rhetoric is "the great vice of the 
English ode"; and from this vice Gray's most ambitious odes, 
with their touch of buckram and formality, are certainly not 
exempt. Nevertheless the poetic merits of The Bard and its 
place among notable English poems have long been beyond 
question. 

•'This ode," Gray writes, "is founded on a tradition cur- 
rent in Wales that Edward I., when he completed the con- 
quest of that country, ordered all the bards that fell into his 
hands to l)e put to death." He gives the original argument of 
the poem in his Commonplace Book as follows: "The army 
of Edward I., as they march through a deep valley and 
approach Mount Snowdou, are suddenly stopped by the 
appearance of a venerable figure seated on the summit of an 
inaccessible rock, who, with a voice more than human, re- 
proaches the king with all the desolation and misery which 
he had brought on his country ; foretells the misfortunes of 
the Norman race, and with prophetic spirit declares that all 
his cruelty shall never extinguish the noble ardour of poetic 
genius in this island ; and that men shall never be wanting to 
celebrate true virtue and valour in immortal strains, to expose 
vice and infamous pleasure, and boldly censure tyranny and 
oppression. His song ended, he precipitates himself from the 



GRAY 655 



mountain and is swallowed up by the river tLat rolls at its 
foot." 

The story of Edward's edict seems to have been more than 
a local tradition, as it is given without question in Warring- 
ton's Hist, of Wales, Vol. II. 298 ; Jones's Relicks of the Welsh 
Bards, p. 38, and in other early authorities. 

222. — 8. Cambria = Wales. See Camber-Britans n. on title 
of Dviiyiow'^ Agincourt, ^. 601.— 13. Stout Glo'ster. "Gilbert 
de Clare, Earl of Gloucester and Hereford, had, in 1282, con- 
ducted the war in South Wales; and after overthrowing the 
enemy near Llandeilo Fawr, had reinforced the King in the 
northwest." (Hales.) — 14. Mortimer. Edward de Mortimer 
actively co operated with the King in North Wales. 

223. — 16. Conway's foaming flood. A river in North Wales. 
Edward I. afterwards built Conway Castle near its mouth. 
The student should consult some good map for the gen- 
eral topography of the poem. — 28. High born Hoel's l.arp, etc. 
All the commentators assume that Gray gave to each of the 
slaughtered bards here mentioned the name of some veritable 
Welsh bard or ruler. They have accordingly taken great 
pains to identify the various persons whose names they think 
the poet here employed. In one instance it certainly seems 
probable that Gray thus borrowed the name of some actual 
person. In referring to the high-horn Hoel it is likely that he 
had in mind Howel ah Otcain, a bard of the latter twelfth 
century, who was one of the most melodious and unattected 
of the Welsh singers. (Stephen's Literature of the Ky7nrie, 42; 
Ency. Brit., "Celtic Lit." 319.) But the assumption that we 
are bound to thus furnish an original for each of the five bards 
referred to by name is entirely unnecessary and involves us in 
difficulties of our own creating. Thus as no hard could be 
found by tlie name of Llewyllen, we are told that someone not 
a bard must be intended. It has accordingly been held that 
by "soft Llewyllen's lay " we are to understand, not the songs 
comi^ose'd by an imaginary bard whom Gray has chosen to 
distinguish by a representative Welsh name, but the lays sung 
to Llewyllen ap Gruffed, the last king of Wales and the antag- 
onist of Edward I. This is a most strained and forced con- 
struction of a perfectly simple phrase: it totally overlooks the 
fact that the speaker, a baid, would hardly allude to his king 
as one of the "dear lost companions of his tuneful art" who 
has perished by the Edict; and it leads us to ask why a famous 
warrior king should be spoken of as "soft." Prof. Rolfe 
endeavors to extricate himself from this last diflSculty by quot- 
ing from certain bardic tributes to Llewyllen, one of which 
states that though he "killed with fury in battle, yet he was a 
mild prince when the mead-horns were distributed." The 



656 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

simpler explanation would appear to be that, at least in the 
greater number of cases, Gray gave liis dead bards names in 
keeping with their nationality, as a novelist of Scottish or Irish 
life would style one of his characters MacGregor or O'Rouike. 
— 30. That hushed the stormy main. So far as I can ascertain, 
Gray had no particular incident or tradition in mind either here 
or in the following reference to Modred and Plinlimmon. 
He simpl}^ gave to the imaginary bard Cadwallo a power often 
attributed to poets of quieting the troubled waters by song. 
Mitford cites : 

" Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song." 

Mid. iV. Dream, A. II. Sc. 1, 1. 147, 

35, Arvon's shore, i.e., on the coast of Carnarvonshire 
(Arvon = Caernarvon = Caer-yn-Arvon, the camp in Arvon), 

224. — 54. Severn. The river Severn flows near to Berkley 
Castle in Gloucestershire, Avhere Edward II. was murdered. 
His shrieks are said by Holinshed to have been heard in the 
town ofBerkley. — 57. She-wolf of France, i.e. .Isabelle, daughter 
of Philip the Fair, King of France, and wife of Edward II, She 
allied herself with Mortimer to compass the ruin of her hus- 
band, Cf. Shakespeare, III. Henry VI. I. 4. 111. — 60, Scourge 
of heaven. Edward III., the invader of France, who, after his 
early triumphs, had an unhappy and solitary end. — 67. Sable 
warrior. Edward the Black Prince, eldest son of Edward III,, 
who died before his father. 

225.-79. Reft of a crown. Richard II., who is said by the 
early writers to have been starved to death. — 83. Din of battle. 
The Wars of the Roses, 1455-1485.— 87. Towers of Julius. The 
Towerof London, popularly supposed to have been first erected 
by Julius Ceesar but in reality not earlier than William the 
Conqueror. — 90. Meek usurper. Henry VI. (See note on jSfow. 
College Ode, 1. 4 ) His consort was Margaret of Anjou, and his 
father Henry V, famous for his victories in France. — 93. 
Bristled boar. " The silver boar was the badge of Richard III., 
whence he was usually known in his own time by the name of 
the Boar." (Gray.) — 97. Sudden fate, Al)out five years after 
Edward's conquest of Wales his queen, Elennor,— the half of 
his heart, — was taken ill during his absence and died before 
he could rejoin her. (Strickland's Queens of England, I. 291.) 

226.— 115 Form divine, i.e., Queen Elizabeth. She is of 
the "Briton line." being the granddaughter of Henry VII., 
who was descended, on his father's side, from the British, or 
Welsh, family of Tudor.— 121. Taliesin. One of the most 
famous Britisli bards of the sixth century. 

227.— 133. Distant warblings, etc., i.e., the poets sue- 



GOLDSMITH 657 



ceeding Milton, who is referred to in the preceding lines. 
They grow more distnnt to the bard as they become farther 
away from him in point of time. 

GOLDSMITH. 

227. Olivek Goldsmith was born in Pallas, Ireland, in 
1728, and died in London in 1774. He had come to the capital 
in 1757, just twenty 3 ears later than Di'. Johnson. 21ie Travel- 
ler, which laid the foundation of his fame as a poet, appeared 
in 1764, and was followed by The Deserted Village in 1770. 
The fifteen years of Goldsmith's literary activity were years of 
rapidly shifting standards in Englisli society, literature, and 
politics. Goldsmith, surrounded by change, was not identified 
wholly with either the old order or the new. 

THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 

227. The didactic object of this poem, as Goldsmith ex- 
plains in his letter of dedication to Sir Joshua Reynolds, is to 
call attention to the depopulation of England (which the poet 
erroneously believed to be then taking place) and to show the 
evil effects of luxury on the well being of a State. It is the 
fashion to piaise the poem for iis character studies and its por- 
tiayal of village life, and either to condemn what is declared to 
be its fallacious political economy, or else to condone its eco- 
nomic errors as immaterial from a poetical point of view. 
Thus a recent biographer of Goldsmith remarks: " We must 
admit, after all, that it is a poetical exigency rather than a poli- 
tical economy that has decreed the destruction of the loveliest 
village of the plain." (Life in E. M. L. 120.) Long before 
this Macaulay complained (Essa}^ on Goldsmith) that Auburn 
was an English village in its prosperity, but an Irish- in its 
decay, and that by thus confusing the rural life of the two 
countries the poet had been so grossly untrue to fact fis to 
seriously injure his poem as a work of art. Goldsmith him- 
self says that he " has taken all possible pains" to be certain 
of his facts, and declares that his description of the village's 
decline is based upon his personal observation of conditions in 
England "for these four or five yenrs pnst." In his opinion 
that England was becoming depopubited Goldsmith was 
entirely mistaken, the exact opposite being, in fact, the case. 
This, however, was a matter for the statistician, and beyond the 
sphere of the individual observer. On the other hand, wlien 
the conditions were ascertainable bj^ personal observation, it 
will be found that Goldsmith was far truer to facts than his 
critics have commonly supposed. 



658 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

We gather that the Village is ruined by a consolidation of 
the separate holdings of small owners in the hand of one 
tyrannical proprietor". The poet sees that throughout the land 
a new aristocracy of wealth is pushing aside the small farmer 
(11. 65-69); that the great places of the large landowners take 
up a space " that many poor supplied " (11. 27U-280); and that 
the harvests are correspondingly diminished. He complains 
that even the commons, formerly open to the poor, are shut off, 
or "denied" (1. 307), and, finally, that the source of the 
national corruption is luxury, the outcome of a rapid growth in 
material prosperity. The latest researches confirm Goldsmith's 
substantial correctness on these points. The extinction of the 
small farmers through the enclosure of the commons, the 
acquisition of large tracts by wealthy proprietors, etc., and the 
breaking up of homes as a consequence of this change, — these 
are facts in the economic history of the time. " Multitudes of 
poor men who, without any legal right, had found a home 
upon the common laud were driven away homeless and 
without coupensatiou." (Lecky, Hist. Eiig. in ISth Gent. VI. 
19S-99; Sjcial England, V. 837.) The hardships that Gold- 
smith pictured were not fanciful; where he erred was in assert- 
ing that the poor thus dispossessed were forced to emigrate in 
such numbers that the land was becoming depopulated. It is 
but just to a poet more distinguished, as a rule, for charm, than 
for exactness of statement, to show that in one case at least 
the inaccuracy is on the part of his critics. As poetry, The 
Diserted Village needs neither defence nor commendation. 
{Sqm Int. Eng. Lit. 282-291.) 

227. — I. Sweet Auburn. This village is not to be found on 
the map There is, indeed, an Aiiburn in Wiltshire, but it is 
not Goldsmith's. Attempts have been aiide to show that the 
poem describes Lissoy, a town in Westmuath, Ireland, where 
Goldsniith's childish years were spent. Probably the poet 
used such of his eirly recollections as suited his purpose, 
idealizing them as he pleased, and not imposing on liis imagina- 
tion any slavish adherence to fact. (See Howitt's Homes and 
Hiuntsofthe Britis'i Po'ts, 203.)— 12. Decent = having a neat, 
u lobtrusive beauty (L-it. decens, involving the idea of sym- 
m 'try and fitness). Cf. Milton, II Penseroso, 1. 36, and Pope, 
Elegi/ on cm Unfortunate Lndi/, 1. 52. 

229.-53. Princes and lords, etc. See Int. E?ig. Lit. 276. 
Hales refers to Burus's Cotter's Saturday Night, 1. 165 (p. 278), 
"Princes and lords are but the breath of kings," and his For 
a' that and a' that (p. 291), " A prince can mak' a belted 
knight," etc. 

230. — 83. In all my wand 'rings. See Thackeray's com- 
ment on this passage in English Humorists, 332. 



GOLDSMITH 659 

231. — 122. Vacant here does not mean lacking in intelli- 
gence, but free from worry or anxiety. — 126. Fluctuate in 
the gale. Note how exactly this is in the stereotyped early 
eighteentli-century manner of Pope and his followers, while 
the description immediately succeeding (129, etc.) is, in sub- 
ject at least, akin to Wordsworth (cf. The Leech-gatherer). So 
Goldsmith touched both the past and the future. — 140. The 
village preacher. A famous portrait of one of the lasting types 
in English society. Cf. Chaucer's Prol. to Canterbury Tales, 
479-530, Fielding's Parson Adams, and Goldsmith's ownT^ecar 
of Wakefield. Irving says: "The picture of the village pas- 
tor, . . . taken in part from the character of his [Goldsmith's] 
father, embodied likewise recollections of his brother Henry : 
for the natures of the father and son seem to have been iden- 
tical." Goldsmith had lost this brother recently, and the fresh- 
ness of his grief doubtless gave an additional tenderness to the 
description. 

233. — 196. The village master. The original of the school- 
master is supposed to be Goldsmith's own teacher in the village 
school at Lissoy, a certain Thomas (or, as he was irreverently 
nicknamed, Paddy) Byrne — an old soldier who had seen ser- 
vice. (See Irving's Life of Ooldsmith.) 

234. — 232. The twelve good rules. "These were: '1. 
Urge no healths; 2. Profane no divine ordinances; 3 Touch 
no state matters; 4. Reveal no secrets ; 5. Pick no quarrels; 
6. Make no comparisons; 7. Maintain no ill opinions; 8. Keep 
no bad company; 9. Encourage novice, 10. Make no long 
meals; 11. Repeat no grievances; 12. Lay no wagers.' These 
rules were ascribed to Charles I. Goldsmith in the fragment 
describing an author's bedchamber speaks of them as 'the 
twelve rules the royal martyr drew.' Cf. Crabbe, Parish Reg- 
ister: 

• There is King Charles and all his golden rules 
Who proved Misfortune's was the best of schools.' " 

(Rolfe.) 

232. The royal game of goose. Either a board for playing 
the game of fox and geese (see Strutl's Sports and Pastimes, 
Bk. IV. Ch. II. § XIV), or one for "The Game of Goose," a 
game entirely distinct from one the first named. (See lb. Bk. 
IV. Ch. II. § XXV.)— 244. Woodman's ballad, i.e., the forester's, 
or hunter's, song. 

235.-257. Vacant mind. See n. to 1. 122, supra.— 2m. The 
rich man's joys increase, etc. Goldsmith's anticipation of much 
of the modern feeling against wealth in certain quarters hns 
not received sufficient attention. Careful examination of con- 
temporary conditions shows that the poet's views were at 



660 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



least not without some basis of fact. Gibben says : " The fact 
has been that after the introduction of the new industrial sys- 
tem (i.e., cir. 1760) the condition of the working cl.-isses rap- 
idly declined," etc. {Industrial Hist. Eng. 192. lb. 186.) Lecky 
says: "Shortly after the Peace of 1763, however, there were 
evident signs that the population was beginning to press upon 
the means of subsistence. The export of corn diminished ; the 
price rose, and several temporary Acts were passed to relieve 
the scarcity." (Flist. of Eng. in the ISth Gent., VI. 198 )— 269. 
Proud swells the tide, etc. The idea apparently is, that while 
more money comes into the country, it is received in return 
for necessaries, some of which are needed for domestic con- 
sumption. As the money thus obtained goes to increase the 
luxury of the rich, it does not add to the subsiantial pros- 
perity of the community as a whole. The actual product of 
the necessaries of life remains the same ; and the rich man 
uses his superabundant wealth to encroach on the lands that 
once supplied the needs of the poor. 

236.-295. By luxury betrayed The increase in luxury and 
extravagance of living, among the industrial and trading, as 
well as the upper, classes, was a prominent feature of the 
time. "It was a change," says Lecky, "not without grave 
social and moral evils." (See Hist, of Eng. in the 18th Gent., 
VI. 181 et seq ) It is perhaps unkind to remember that poor 
Goldsmith, with his tine clothes and his unpaid tailor's bill, 
was an example of improvidence, not a type of frugality. 
— 308. The bare-worn common, etc. "No less than 700 En- 
closure Acts were passed between 1760 and 1774. The old 
common fields were beginning to disappear, and the working 
classes also lost their rights of pasturing cattle on the wastes, 
for the wastes were enclosed." (Gibben 's Industrial Hist, of 
Eng.lbZ.) "Districts once covered with small arable farms 
were turned into immense pastures, and there were com- 
plaints that a single man monopolized a tract which had 
formerly supported twelve or fourteen industrious families. 
W hole villages tohich had depended on free pasture-land and fuel 
dwindled and perished, and a stream of emigrants passed to 
America." (Lecky, Hist, of Eng. in the ISlh Gent., VI. 202 
and n.) — 316. Artist here means artisan, or mechanic — a 
common use in Goldsmith's time. — 325. Houseless shivering 
female Goldsmith's sympathy with the unfortunate did not 
spend itself in poetical expressions. He once left the whist- 
table and rushed into the street to relieve the miserj-- of a 
woman whom he heard "half singing and half sobbing " out- 
side. (See Irving's Life of Goldsmith, Ch. XXXV.) 

237. — 344. "Wild Altama." i e., the river Altamaha, or 
Alahamha, in Georgia. Oglethorpe secured Letters Patent 



CHATTEKTON 661 



for the Colony of Georgia in 1732. As it was flourisbing at 
the time Goldsmith wrote, and as it was started as an asylum 
for the oi>pressed, there is a special pertinence in the allusion. 

238. — 355. Crouching tigers. Some commentators object to 
this on the ground that there are no tigers in Georgia; Rolfe 
thinks that the reference is to the jaguar and the puma, " the 
American tigers." Probably the actual presence or absence 
of the tiger was a matter about which Goldsmith was utterly 
indifferent. There are similar errors in other parts of the 
description. Goldsmith wanted tigers for poetical purposes, 
as Shakespeare required lions in the forest of Arden. 

239. — 407. And thou, sweet Poetry, etc. Carlyle calls 
Goldsmith " the one only English poet of the period " (essay 
on Ooethe); but while poetry was at a low ebb, the condition 
was not so bad as Carlyle asserts, for the tide had already 
turned. Gray, still living, had recently enriched English 
poetry, and Chatterton had published two notable poems 
shortly before this time. Percy's Reliques (1765) and Ossian 
(1762) may also be mentioned. 

240. — 418. Torno's cliflfe. "There is ariver Tornea(or Tor- 
neo, as it is sometimes written) flowing into the Gulf of Bothnia, 
and forming part of the boundary between Sweden and Russia. 
There is also a Lake Tornea in the extreme northern part of 
Sweden. Cf. Campbell : 'Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary 
brow.' Fambawarca is said to be a mountain near Quito." 
(Rolfe.) — 427. Trade's proud empire, etc. "Goldsmith's fal- 
lacy," says Hales, "lies in identifying trade and luxury." 
The view is. of course, a partial one, the prosperity both of 
modern England and of the United States being largely 
founded on trade ; at the same time any impartial and clear- 
seeing American should admit that " the rage of gain " has its 
drawbacks, 

CHATTERTON. 

240.— Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770) was the son of a 
schoolmaster at Bristol. An apparently instinctive delight in 
the romantic atmosphere of the Middle Ages was stimulated 
and developed by his earliest surroundings His uncle >\as 
sexton of the beautiful old church of St. Mary Redclifle, a 
position held by members of the family through many gener- 
ations. This church, rich in relics of the past, was part of 
Chatterton's life from the first , he learned his alphabet from 
the illustrated capitals of an old folio taken from its store of 
MSS. ■ Af\ a boy he dreamed himself back in the past, and be- 
tween 1760 and 1770 he wrote poems which lie pretended were 



662 THOMSON TO TENNYSOK 

the work of a monk of the fifteenth century, whom he called 
Thomas Rowley. After some unsuccessful attempts to bring 
his work before the public, he went up to Loudon in 1770, 
resolved upon a literary career. He fought manfully for two 
months against the great city ; but disappointment, poverty, 
and neglect were too strong for him. Hopeless, hungry to 
starvation, and too proud to accept charity, he poisoned himself 
and was found dead in a garret littered with the torn fragments 
of his verse. By promise, he is the most extraordinary poetic 
genius in the aunals of the literature. In performance he is, 
if not, as Theodore Watts asserted, the father of that Romanti- 
cism which later found voice in Coleridge, Scolt, and Keats, at 
least one of the earliest and most influential figures in the 
Mediaeval Revival. It is noteworthy that the same decade 
which saw the composition of his mediaeval poems saw also 
the publication of Horace Walpole's mediaeval romance The 
Castle of Otranio and of Percy's Reliques. 

THE BALLAD OF CHARITIE. 

242.— The full title of this poem as originally given by 
Chattertou was. An Eccelente Balad of Chariiie : As Wroten 
bie the Oode Pries te Thomas Rowleie, 1464. Theodore Watts 
has pronounced it as perhaps " the most purely artistic work 
of Chatterton's time." After speaking of Chatterton as the 
successor in romanticism of Coleridge and others, he thus 
goes on to point out the close relationship between Chatter- 
ton and Keats. "It is ditficult to express in words wherein 
lies the entirely spiritual kinship between Chatterton's Ballad 
of Charity aud Keats's Eve of St. Agnes, yet I should be scep- 
trical as to the insight of any critic who should fail to recognize 
that kinship. Not only are the beggar and the thunderstorm 
depicted with the sensuous sympathy aud melodious insistence 
which is the great charm of 2'he Eve of St. Agnes, but the 
movement of the lines is often the same. Take for instance 
the description of Keats's bedesman, 'meagre, barefoot, wan,' 
which is, in point of metrical movement, identical with 
Chatterton's description of the alms-era ver, 'withered, for- 
wynd, dead.'" 

842.— 1. In Virginie, i.e., in the sign of the Zodiac 
known as Virgo, or the Virgin. That is, in September or 
at the time of the autumnal equinox. 5. Chelandry = gold- 
finch. Chatterton. Chelaundre is an obsolete form of calan- 
dra, a kind of lark. — 7. Aumere. Here erroneously used as 
"a loose robe or mantle." The actual meaning is an alms- 
purse or bag.— 15. Holm = holly tree, {^gq Faerie Queene, 
Bk. I. C. I. 1. 81 and n.) 



cowPER 663 



243.— 31. Ghastness = terror. "Do you perceive the 
ghastness of her eye?" {Othello, V. 1.)— 34. Levin = lightning. 
(M. E. levene, levy a = lightning.) Faerie Queeue, Bk. V. C. VI. 
1, 40.— 45. Chapournette. " A small round hat, . . . formerly 
worn by ecclesiastics and lawyers." (Chatterton.) (Fr. cliapour- 
net = a small hood.)— 47. BederoU. To tell one's beads back- 
wards was " a ligurative expression to signily cursing." 
(Chatterton.) 

244.— 50. Cope = cloak ; mantle. (See Centy. Bid.)— 52. 
Autremete, Chatterton here means by this word "a loose 
white robe worn by priests."— 63, Crouch — crucifix, cross 
(Lat. crux, M. E. crouche).~14i. Jape — - " a short surplice, 
worn by friars of an inferior class, and secular priests." — 
75. Limitour. A friar licensed to beg, and limited to a certain 
specified district. (See Chaucer's Prologue to The KnighVs 
Tale, 1. 209.) 

245. — 87. Semi cope = " a short under-cloak." — 90. Glour = 
glory (Fr. gloire). 

COWPER. 

245. In the succession of poets that prepared the way for 
Wordsworth, and those who came with and after him, Will- 
iam CowPER (1731-1800) holds an honorable and important 
place. The close relations in which he stands to the poets 
who immediately precede or follow him are apparent to every 
thoughtful reader and cannot now be enlarged upon. T?ie 
Task, for instance, may be appropriately placed between The 
Seasons on the one hand and 17ie Excursion on the other. 
His relations to the new England springing up about him are 
equally important. He touches it at many points : its renewal 
of religious fervor ; its growing love of country-life; its an- 
tagonism to the constraint and artificiality of great cities ; its 
love of animals ; its tender pity for suil'ering ; its generous 
championship of the wronged and the oppressed. To appre- 
ciate the real meaning of Cowper's work, we must remember 
his convictions and the spirit in which lie wrote. The poems 
and passages given in the text are, in many cases, personal 
revelations, and they must be read in the light of our knowl- 
edge of the man and his time. 

Cowper did not write of the country in the midst of the din 
of London : his poetry of nature was composed under the 
quieting influence of the scenes he describes. After failing to 
make his way in the capital, he retired into Huntingdonshire 
in 1765, leaving worldly ambition behind him, and leading{ex- 
cept for a few devoted friends) the life of a recluse. He had 



664 THOMSON TO TENNYSOK 



his dog aud bis pet hares, and he rambled through fields and 
woods, or meditated beside the lazy waters of his favorite 
Oiise. In 1779 he joined his friend iiev. John Newton in the 
publicatiou of a book of hymns. Two volumes of verse fol- 
lowed, the second of which contained John Giljnn (1785). 
The Task, incomparably the best of his longer poems, appeared 
in 1785 ; in the year following Burns published his first vol- 
ume, Poems Ghiefli/ in the Scotch Dialect. The gloom that had 
long darkened Cowper's life deepened towards the close. His 
mind had long been allected, aud at the last his state became 
pitiable in the extreme. Possessed by a marked religious 
melancholy, he looked upon himself as an outcast from the 
Divine mercy. Out of the darkness of his last years come two 
sad but beautiful poems, Lines on the Receipt of my Mother's 
Picture and The Gadaway. The latter was his last original 
poem. 

THE TASK. 

BOOK I. THE SOFA. 

700. Reynolds. At this time Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723- 
1792) was at the height of liis fame as a painter. For about 
sixteen years he had been President of the Royal Academy, 
and the year before IVie Task was published had been ap- 
pointed painter to the king. 

246.— 702. Bacon. John Bacon (1740-1799) who at this 
time lield in sculpture a position somewhat compai"able to that 
of Reynolds in painting. — 704. Chatham. William Pitt, Earl of 
Chatham, one of the gieatest of English orators. He had l)een 
dead for al)out six years when The Task appeared. 

247.-722 Increasing London. The population of England 
increased rapidly toward the end of the eighteenth century; 
the greater part of ihe increase being in the towns. This of 
course was due to the growth of manufactures, commerce, and 
the Enclosure Acts. In 1750 the population of London was 
about 600,000 ; by 1801 it h id increa.sed to 864.035. (See note 
to Goldsmith's Deserted Village, ]. 308.) — 732. In denouncing 
death, etc. The penal laws, at this time, were both cruel and 
illogical. To give only a few illustrations : to steal a sheep or 
a horse, to cut down another's trees, to pick a man's pocket of 
more than twelve pence, were all crimes punishable with death. 
On the other hand, it was not a capital oii'ence for a man to at- 
tempt to murder his lather or to stab another severely, pro- 
vided his victim did not die from his wounds. Sir Samuel 
Romilly (1757-1818) was the first to effect any important re- 
forms in these barbarous laws. (See Lecky's IJist. of Eng in 
the ISth Centy. Vol. VI. Ch. XXIII.) 



COAVPER 665 

248.-755. Know no fatigue, etc. Compare note to Gold- 
smith's Deserted Village, 1. 266. 

BOOK II. THE TIME-PIECE. 

249.— 40. Slaves cannot breathe in England. The question 
as to whether skives were legally emancipated by being 
brought to England was not settled until Vt'72. Then a sick 
slave, named Somerset, was dismissed by the master who had 
brought him to England. When Ihe slave recovered, his 
former master forcibly seized him. in order that he might sell 
him in Jamaica. The case was brought before Lord Mans- 
field, who decided in Somerset's favor, and held that every 
slave, as soon as he touched England, acquired his freedom. 
Wilberforce, Sharpe, and others, worked hard for the total 
abolition of slavery, and in 1787 the Society for the Suppres- 
sion of Slavery was instituted. The Abolition Act, however, 
was not passed until 1807. 

BOOK III. THE GARDEN. 

108. I was a stricken deer, etc. Cowper suffered from attacks 
of terrible dejection, which several times resulted in insanity. 
After he had recovered from the worst of one of these, he gave 
up all hope of succeeding at the bar. 

BOOK IV. THE WINTER^S EVENING. 

250.— 5. He comes, the herald, etc. Palmer's mail-coaches, 
which were started in 1784, considerably improved the postal 
service. There were many places, however, still dependent on 
postboys, who travelled on horseback over the rough and less 
frequented roads. lii 1771 the press finally obtained the right 
to criticise and publish Parliamentary proceedings ; and about 
and after that lime many important newspapers were founded. 
—10. Inn. This was an inn in Olney called "The Swan." 
There is one there at the present time, of the same name, but not 
in the exact location of the one so called when Cowper wrote. 

251.— 28. Is India free? In 1784 Pitt introduced a bill for 
the government of India, wiiich was a subject of much general 
interest and discussion England was feeling the weight of 
her responsibilities in regard to it, and India had suffered 
much from oppression and injustice. Her cause, however, 
was soon to be investigated in the famous trial of Warren 
Hastings, wiiicli was begun in 1786. It is interesting to re- 
member that Hastings was at one time a schoolfellow of 
Cowper's. — 39. The cups, etc. Although there is mention 
made of tea by an Englishman as early as 1615, it does not 
seem to have been used in England until the middle of the 



666 THOMSON TO TENKYSON 



seventeenth century. When first introduced, it was such an 
expensive luxury that it was not in general use until much 
later. By 1785, however, ii could be bought for five or six 
shillings per pound. — 120. Oh Winter! The fact that most of 
The Ta.sk was written during a particularly severe winter, ac- 
counts for the numerous and accurate descriptions of that 
season. 

252. — 243. Come Evening. Compare this with Milton's 
beautiful description, "Now came still Evening on", etc. 
{Par. Lost, Bk IV. 598.) 

254.-364. That breathes the spleen. Cf. n. to 11. 16 and 
59, in C. IV. of The Rape of the Lock.—d&l. The poor beasts. 
Note here the care and sympathy shown for animals which 
appears so often in Cowper; see, e.g., the often-quoted 
passage beginning, " I would not enter on my list of friends" 
(Bk. VI. 560). 

BOOK VI. THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 

66. The embattled tower is thought to refer to the church at 
Emberton, which is about a mile from Olney. 

ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE, 

257. This picture was a miniature painted in oils by 
Heiues. "In acknowledging the receipt of the gift, the poet 
says (February 27, 1790): 'The world could not have fur- 
nished you with a present so acceptable to me as the picture 
which you have so kindly sent me. I received it the night 
before last, and viewed it with a trepidation of nerves and 
spirits somewhat akin to what I should have felt had the dear 
original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it and 
huDg it where it is the last object that I see at night, and of 
course the first upon which 1 open my e^'es in the morning. 
She died when I completed my sixth year, yet I remember her 
well and am an oracular witness of the great fidelity of the 
copy.'" {The Life of William Coicper, by Thomas Wright, 
512.) 

ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. 

2C>1. The Royal George, a vessel in the British navy, was 
lost off Spithead, August 29, 1792. The ship had been heeled 
over for repairs. While the crew were at dinner, she was 
struck by a sudden squall, and, the leeward deck-ports being 
left open, she rapidly filled ;ind sank. From six to eight 
hundred men are said to have perished. Admiral Kempen- 
felt, who was in command, was the son of Col. Kempenfelt of 



BLAKE 667 

Sweden, immortalized by Addisou in the Si7' Roger Be Coverley 
Papers under the name of Captain Sentry. 

THE CASTAWAY. 

262. This poem was written in 1799, It is founded on 
an incident related in Anson's Voyages, but those who Itnow 
Cowper's history will have no difficulty in seeing that it is 
rather a touching record of the poet's own spiritual experience. 

263.-25. Some succor, etc. In the early part of 1797 
Cowper sank into a stale of dejection, and the efforts of his 
friends to help him were like "the cask, the coop, the floated 
cord," of but temporary avail. 



BLAKE. 

264. William Blake (1757-1827), painter, poet, and (as 
he esteemed himself) seer and prophet, had his own distinctive 
and recognized part and place in the rise of the new poetry. 
He was " at ten years of age an artist, at twelve a poet." His 
Poetical Sketches were published in 1788, his 8ongs of Innocence 
in 1789, and the companion volume, the Songs of Experience, 
in 1794. His best known aud most intelligible poems are con- 
tained in one or the other of these three books, but besides 
these he produced a mass of poetry of an obscure and allegori 
cal character. It is not in these so-called "prophetic books," 
fascinating as they may be to the enthusiastic or curious 
student, that we are to look for Blake's most vital contribution 
to literature ; it is in his lyrics. There he touches the deepest 
questions with the simplicity of an inspired child ; there, as 
the poet of the sacred mystery of childhood, he is the pre- 
cursor of Wordsworth. Many of those new convictions which 
we have noted as dominating tlie poetry of Cowper and the 
poets of the new order, are found also in Blake, but impressed 
with the marks of his own peculiar personality. 

TO THE MUSES. 

264. This poem was written in 1783. The complaint of 
the dearth of poetic expression at this time is well founded, as 
Goldsmith and Gray were dead, and neither Burns nor Words- 
worth had begun their work. 

THE TIGER. 

270. The unison of grace and malignity in the tiger con- 
founds Blake, and he asks: "Did He who made the Lamb 



668 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



make thee ? " Muny men of diverging opinions luive "wondered 
over the presence of sulleriiig and cruelty as part of the 
appointed order of the created world. (Cf. Tennyson's In 
Memoriam, LV., and Maud, IV., and also Int. Eng. Lit. 
474-5.) 

BURNS. 

272. Robert Burns, the greatest poet of Scotland, was 
born at Alloway in Ayrshire. January 25. 1759. His father 
held a small farm ; his family had been faimers for genera- 
tions. Burns, who thus came out of the great toiling mass of 
the Scotlisii people, was himself a farmer, sharing the toils, 
anxieties, hardships, and pleasures that were the common lot 
of the men of his class. It was a song-writing age in Scotland, 
and Burns wrote songs. His first poem is said to have been 
composed in 1775, when he was in his seventeenth year. Ten 
years later he entered upon a period of remarkable produc- 
tiveness, and during 1785-6 produced an astonishing number 
of poems of high rank. These were included in his first 
volume of Poems (1786), which contained, among others, The 
Cotter's Saturchiy Night, The Tto i Dogs, The Jolly Beggars, 
The Mountain Daisy. A second edition appeared in the fol- 
lowing year, and a fuller collection in 1793. Burns died in 
1796, at thirty-seven ; it is astonishing to reflect that all the 
work on which his fame rests was produced within little 
more than ten years. Most of the longer poems belong to the 
earlier half of this brief period, while to the later belong many 
of his best songs. Sheer force — masculine, native, power— is 
perhaps the most predominant characteristic of the poems of 
the earlier time ; melody, tenderness, intensity, of those of 
the later. This original power, manifest in such works as Tlie 
Jolly Beggars and akin to that displayed in the prose of Field- 
ing or the art of Hogarth, had long been absent from the poetry 
of England. 

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

272. According to Robert'.s brother Gilbert, this poem owes 
its existence to the deep impression made upon the poet by the 
simple family worship, regularly held in his own as in other 
Scotch households, before retiring for the night. From a 
child. Burns had watched his father hold this nightly .service 
of Bible reading and prayer, and after his father's death had 
himself — as eldest son— succeeded to this solemn duty, Gilbert 
says that Robert had frequently remarked to him "that he 
thought there was something peculiarly venerable in the 



BURNS 669 



phrase, 'Let us worship God !' used by a decent, sober head 
of a family introducing family worship. To this sentiment 
of the author the world is indebted for 'The Cotter's Saturday 
Night.'" 

U72.— 1. Much-respected friend. Robert Aii^en, a solicitor 
and tax-surveyor in Ayr. was a patron of Burns and an admirer 
of his poetry. He excelled as an orator and elocutionist, and 
rendered Burns' verses so effectively that the poet declared 
he "read him " into fame. There are numerous allusions to 
him scattered through Burns' poetry. — 10. Sugh = a rustling 
sound, a rush of wind, or liaw. — 15. Moil = drudgery. The 
original meaning of the verb to moil being to moisten, and 
secondarily to dirty or bedaub, the noun is naturally asso( iated 
with toil of a grimy or dirty character. — 16. Mattocks. Tools 
resembling a pickaxe. 

273. — 21. Stacher = stagger (also written stacker, stakker). 
—22. Flichterin' = fluttering.— 28. Ingle = fireplace.— 26. 
Kiaugh = carking. — 28. Belvye = by-and-bye, presently. 
— 30. Ca' = drive. This word is thought to be quite di-tinct 
from our verb call. To ca' a nail = to drive a nail (see 
Jamison's Ety. Diet, of the Scottish Lang.). — 80. Tentie rin a 
cannie errand = careful run a quiet errand — 34. Braw = tine, 
gay. (Eng. braver splendid, gorgeous). — 35. Sair won penny- 
fee = hard-earned w-ages. — 38. Spiers = enquires. — 40. Uncos 
= strange happenings. Unco is primarily unknown, the equiv- 
alent of uncouth, for which see Cent. Did. — 44. Gars = makes. 
—48. Eydent = dilioent. 

274.-49. Jauk = trifle, or, as we would say, to fool.— 62. 
Hafflins = half. — 64. Ben = inside, or, more particularly, into 
the inner room. In two-roomed houses the outer apartment, 
or hall, was called the but, the inner, containing the fireside, 
ben. Hence, to be far-ben with any one meant to be on in- 
timate terms.— 67. Cracks = chats.— Kye = cows —69. Blate 
and laithfu' = bashful and sheepish. — 72. Lave = rest. 

275. — 92. Halesome parritch = wholesome porridge. — 93. 
Soupe = liquid, i.e., the milk. — Hawkie = cow. — 94. Hallan 
= wall. In Scotch cottages the hallan is the partition divid- 
ing the but from the beji (see note to 1. 64, supra).— 9Q. Weel- 
hain'd kebbuck = well-saved cheese. — Fell = strong, pungent. 
— 99. Sin' lint was i' the bell = since flax was in the flower. — 
103. Ha' Bible is literally hall Bible, i.e., the Bible of the house- 
hold (ha', or hal = hold, or dwelling). 

276. — 104. Bonnet. In the English of Shakespeare and 
Milton bonnet often means a cap or liead-covering worn by men 
or boys. In Scotland the use is still retained The Blue- 
bonnet, a blue woollen cap, is so much used by the Scotch that 
''the Blue-bonnets" is sometimes equivalent to ''the Scotch," 



670 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

(See Scott's Border Ballad, p. 375.)— 105. Lyart haffets = gmy 
temples, i.e , the locks of gray about his temples. — 107. Wales 
= selects.— Ill, 112, 113. Dundee, Martyrs, and Elgin are 
among the most familiar and characteristic of the Scottish 
hymu-tunes. — 113. Beets = fans. 

277.— 135. Bab'lon's doom. See i?e?). ch. xviii.— 137. The 
saint, the father, and the husband, etc. The "priest-like 
father" of the simple home, worshipping with his family 
about him, — it is round this that the whole poem moves. Our 
conception of the Scotch peasant in his religious earnestness 
and patriarchal dignity is deepened and exalted by this noble 
and suagestive line. — 138. Springs exulting, etc. Cf. Pope's 
Windsor Forest, 1. Ill, 113: 

" The whirring pheasant springs, 
And mounts exulting on triumphant wings:—" 

278. — 165, Princes and lords, etc. Cf. as another example 
of the rising tide of democratic feeling in the latter half of the 
eighteenth century, Goldsmith's Deserted Village, 53. 

TO A MOUSE. 

279. — 4. Bickerin' brattle. 'Hurrying flight' is perhaps the 
nearest English equivalent, but it gives no notion of the force 
of the Scotch. Confusion and tumult are suggested, as well as 
rapid flight. Cf. for English use of bicker, Tennyson's 
Brook. — ^. Pattle = "a stick with which the ploughman 
clears away the earth that adheres to the plough." (Jamieson.) 
— 13. Whyles = sometimes. — 15. A daimen icker in a thrave = 
an occasional ear in tv/enty-four sheaves. The thraves, as set 
up in the fields, consisted of two stooks, or shocks, of corn of 
twelve sheaves each. — 21. Big = build. — 22. Foggage = rank 
grass ; growing here among the grain. — 24. Snell = bitter, 
sharp. 

280.— 34. But = without.— 36. Cranreuch = hoar-frost.— 
40. Agley ■= askew. (Literally to go off the right line ; glance 
obliquely. ) 

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 

3. Stoure = dust stirred up, or in motion. The primary 
idea of stoure is commotion, agitation; but the word is applied 
to objects, or to a number of persons in a state of disturbance. 
Here it is the moving dust, but it is similarly used of particles 
of water or flying spray. — 9. Weet = wet, 

281.— 21. Bield = refuge, shelter,— 23. Histy = dry. bar- 
ren, — 89. Card, possibly chart, but more probably used here 



BURNS 671 

for compass. The card, or compass-card, on which the points 
were given, was often used for the compass itself. Cf. Mac- 
beth, I. 3: "All the quarters that they knew i' the shipman's 
card." 

TAM O'SHANTER. 

282. The original of 7Vtm O'Shanter is supposed to be one 
Douglas Graham, tenant of the farm of Slianter. He is said 
to have been " noted for his convivial habits, which his wife's 
ratings tended rather to confirm than to eradicate." He liad 
a long-tailed gray mare, whose tail was picked by certain 
jokers while she stood outside the tavern waiting for her mas- 
ter. Graham was sure that the mischief had been done by the 
witches at Alioway Kirk. (See Henly and Henderson's Burns, 
I. 437.) 

The poem was composed in the autumn of 1790 Accord- 
ing to Gilbert Burns its origin was as follows: Eobert, having 
become intimate with a certain antiquarian named Captain 
Grose, asked him to make a drawing of Alioway Kirk, add- 
ing that there were many good wilch-stories connected with 
it. The picture of the kiik Burns wished Grose to include in 
a book he was then engaged in preparing. The captain con- 
sented on condition that the poet would furnish a witch-poem 
to accompany the sketch. 7''am O'Shanter was accordingly 
written, and published in Grose's A i>tiguitie<s of Scotland in 
1791. According to Lockhart the poem "was the work of 
one day." — Of brownys, etc. The motto of the poem is taken 
from the sixth prologue in Gawin Douglas's tianslaticn of the 
u^neid. cir. 1513. 

1. Chapman billies = itinerant pedlars. A chapman is a 
hawker, and billies is a common term for young fellow or 
comrade. — 2. Drouthy = thirsty, as after a di out h. — 4. Gate = 
road. — 5. Bousing. A slang nautical term; to "bouse up the 
jib" = to drink deeply.— 5. Nappy = ale or strong drink. 
(See n. to Fortuvati nimium, 1. 9, supra.) — 6. Unco = uncom- 
monly. — 7. Scots miles. The Scotch mile was several hun- 
dred yards longer than the English mile.— 8. Slaps = gaps in 
a hedge or fence. 

283. — 19. Skellum = scoundrel, a worthless fellow. — 20. 
Blethering and blellum = foolish talker. Both words mean the 
same. To 6^«^Ad?' = to talk nonsense. — 23. Melder. "The quan- 
tity of meal ground at the mill at one time." (Jamieson.)— 24. 
Siller = silver.— 25 Ca'd, etc. See n. on Cotters Sat. Night, 1. 30, 
supi'a.—W>. Kirkton Jean, i e., one Jean KtMlned3^ who kept a 
public house at the village of Kirkoswald. Kirkoswald is on the 
road from Portpatrick to Glasgow. Burns was at school there 



672 THOMSON TO TENNTSOK 



for some months in the summer of 1778. find there Graham 
{Tarn O'SIumter) and Jolin D;ividson (who is supposed to have 
been the original of Souier Johnnie) are buried. (See The 
Land of Burns, by Prof. Wilson and Kobert Chambers, I. 10.) 
— 31. Warlock = a wizard ; one supposed to be in league 
with the devil. The word means primarily a traitor or de- 
ceiver. — 31. Mirk — dark. — 33. It gars me greet = it makes 
me weep. — 39. Ingle = fire. Ingle-neuk = tiresitle. — 40. 
Reaming swats = foauiing new ale. — 41. Souter or soutar = 
a cobbler. — 51. Rair = roar. 

284.-55 Lades = loads.— 81. Skelpit, rode on fast. SMp 
means to beat, so, probably, lashing his mare — 81. Dub, a small 
pool of water. — 83. Blue bonnet. See n. on Gotter^s Sat. Night, 
}. 104, supra. — 86. Bogles = spectres or hobgoblins — 88. 
Houlets — owls. 

285.— 91. Birks = birches.— Meikle stane = large stone. 
Meikle = much, 6 g.— 93. Cairn = a heap of stones. These 
cairns are found throughout England and Scotland, and are 
conical in shape. — 103. Bore = cranny.— 105, John Barleycorn 
= Scotch whiskey. See Burns' poem entitled John Barley- 
corn. — 107. Tippenny = twopenny ale. — 108. Usquebae = 
whiskey. — 110. Boddle, or bodle, or hawhee. A small Scotch 
copper coin issued under Charles II. and worth at that time 
twopence. The word is said to be a corruption of Bolhwell, 
the name of the master of the mint at that time. — 116. Brent 
= bright. Brent new = bran-new. — 117. Strathspey. A dance 
invented in the eighteenth century in Strathspey, Scotland, 
somewhat like tlie reel, only slower and of a jerky measure.— 
119. Winnock-bunker = window ledge or sejit. — 121. Towzie 
tyke — a shaggy unkempt cur. — 123. Gart them skirl = made 
them scream. In speaking of bagpipes, they are always said 
to scream. 

286.— 124. Dirl = tremble, shake with noise.— 127. Can- 
trip, or caritraip = spells or charms. Cant = incantation, 
raip = rope. In old times magicians used magic-ropes in 
performing their charms. — 131. Aims = irons. — 134. Gab = 
mouth. — 147. Cleekit = linked their arms. — 148. Carlin = an 
old crone. — 149. Coost = cast. — Buddies = rngs. — 150. Sark 
= shirt. — 151. Queans = young women. — 153. Creeshie = 
greasy. — 154. Seventeen-hunder-linen = fine linen. It is a 
weaving term, meaning so many threads to a certain measure; 
of course the quality becomes finer as the number of the 
threads increases. — 155. Thir breeks = these breeches. — 157. 
Hurdles = hips. — 158. Burdies =r lasses. 

287.— 160 Rigwoodie hags. Gallows-worthy hags, from 
Tig = the back, and widdy or woody (Scotch withy) = a rope, 
to hang up by the back. — 160. Spean = to wean. — 161. Crum- 



BURNS 673 

mock = staff ; a witch's stick. — 164. Waulie = strapping. — 
165. Core = the heart, or inueimost part of anything; here 
means she was the central figure. — 171. Cutty-sark = short- 
shirt. — Paisley ham = Paisley linen, a kind of coarse linen. 
Paisley is noted for its manufacture of linen, shawls, etc. 
—176. Coft = bought.— 179. Cour = cover.— 186. Hotch'd, an 
awkward or ungainly mode of moving about. In Scotland, 
when potatoes are shaken together in a bag to pack them 
down, they are said to be hotc7ied.—lS8. Tint = lost. — 193. 
Fyke = fidget or nervous hurry. — 194. Byke = hive. 

288. — 195. Pussies mortal foes. Puss is hercia hare, or rab- 
bit. The word is often so used by Scott, etc.— 200. Eldritch 
= ghastly. — 201. Fairin', a gift brought from a fair, but here 
used ironically, as an unwelcome gift.— 206. Keystone of the 
brig, middle of the bi-idge, for the supeistitious believe that 
if they can safely reach the middle of a stream of running 
water the fiends can then pursue them no further. — 210 Fient 
= never, none. — 213. Ettle = intent, aim. 

BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY AT BANNOCK- 
BURN. 

289. This famous battle was fought on June 23, 1314. 
The English, under Edward II., were well equipped and num- 
bered one hundred thousand men ; the Scotch forces, under 
Bruce, were poorly armed and outnumbered three to one by 
their formidable antagonists. Nevertheless, that patriotic 
courage to which ]3ruce appeals in the poem, won a victory 
for Scotland. " There is a tradition," says Burns, "that the 
old air, 'Hey, Tutti, Taiti,' was Robert Bruce's march at the 
battle of Bannockburn. This thought, in my solitary wand- 
erings, has warmed me to a pilch of enthusiasm on the tlieme 
of liberty and independence, which I have thrown into a kind 
of Scottish ode," etc. " This ode," says Prof. Wilson—" the 
grandest out of the Bible — is sublime ! " 

BURNS' SONGS. 

Although endowed with narrative, dramatic, and descrip- 
tive powers sufficient in themselves to place him among the 
great poets of the world, it was in his songs that the genius 
of Burns found its fullest and most inimitable medium of ex- 
pression. His songs have in them an indescribable and varied 
melody; they are full of an intense and living humanity; they 
are marvellously simple and movingly sincere. These great 
qualities make Burns the song-writer, not of the cultured only, 
but of the world. His songs speak to all who have known the 



674 THOMSON TO TENis^YSON 

love of women, friends, or country, fill who have enjoyed to- 
day, defied to-morrow, or looked back regretfully to the past. 

THE BANKS OF DOON. 

290. The first version of this song, commonly placed 
among Burns's three or four best lyrics, was written in March, 
1791. It is said to have been suggested by an unfortunate 
love affair of a Miss Peggy Kennedy, a young girl of Ayrshire. 

A RED, RED ROSE. 

291. This lyric, one of the best of Burns' love-songs, is 
an astonishing example of the poet's power of using and im- 
proving upon the work of others. Like Shakespeare, Burns 
was a royal borrower, and like him he had that highest origi- 
nality which is able to cliauge borrowed materials into a new 
and hi-gher thing. An interesting study of the sources of the 
poem will be found in Henley and Henderson's Burns, III. 
402. The whole subject is far more than a mere matter of 
curious interest; it illustrates the general truth that Burns' 
poetry is Hot unrelated to what has gone before, but that it 
has absorbed and glorified the lilt and sentiment of many a 
forgotten song and many a nameless singer. Burns' songs are 
the finest and most consummate product of a song-making 
nation, and it takes nothing from o ir admiration of their 
author if we realize that a whole people, whose poetic utter- 
ance had been comparatively imperfect, spoke through him ; 
that he was the real inheritor of his country's songs, because 
it was reserved for him to give them that final touch which 
made them immortal, 

IS THERE FOR HONEST POVERTY. 

' 291, This poem appeared in the Glasgow Magazine for 
August, 1795. Burns says of it, in a letter to George Thomson 
in January of that year that, according to the dicta of a great 
critic, it is " no song," but that it will nevertheless be allowed 
"to be two or three pretty good prose thoughts inverted into 
rhyme." Mr. John Maccuen gives certain passages from 
Paine's Rights of Man, which he seems to think similar enough 
to have been Burns' original (See his Ethics of Citizenship, 
p. 64, or Wallace's Life and Work of Burns, IV. 186.) The 
close relation of tlie poem to the democratic trend of the time 
is significant and obvious. Cf. note to Cotter's Saturday Night, 
1. 165, and Goldsmith's Deserted Village, 1. 53 and note, sujyra. 
1-4. Is there, etc. "These four lines, the sense of which is 



WORDSWORTH 675 

often misunderstood, may be thus interpreted: Is there any 
one who hangs his head in shame at his poverty ? If there is 
such a poor creature, we pass him by as a coward slave." 
(Wallace's Burns, IV. 186.)~7. The rank is but the guinea's 
stamp, etc. Some suppose the passage to have been suggested 
by the following from Wycherley's Plain Dealer (Act I. Sc. 1), 
pub. 1677: "I weigh the man with his title; 'tis not the king's 
stamp can make the metal better or heavier. Your lord is a 
leaden shilling, which you bend every way, and which de- 
bases the stamp he bears. " 



WORDSWORTH. 

293. William Wordsworth (1770-1850) was not only a 
writer of noble verse ; he was also a revealer of a truth which 
he was the first great poet fully to perceive and express. He more 
than any other, made the growing love of nature not merely a 
matter of taste or of sentimental preference, but elevated it 
to a place in the spiritual or religious life ; he made it "a 
revealing agency, like Love or Piayer. " He came of good 
North-country stock ; he was born at Cockermouth, Cumber- 
land, in one of the loveliest regions of rural England. As 
child, boy, and youth the spirit of the country entered into 
his spirit, and as a man it was in the country that the greater 
part of his life was spent. His first published poem was An 
Evening Walk (1793). In 1798 he and Coleridge put forth The 
Lyrical Ballads — an epoch-making book. It is in his contri- 
butions to this joint venture that the poet Wordsworth, — in his 
weakness and his strength, — first definitely declared himsel«f. 
Between this date and 1807 Wordsworth pioduced much of 
his best work. This period includes some of his masterpieces 
of short and simple narration {Michael, The Brothers, etc.), 
some of the best of his lyrics {The Highland Girl, The Solitary 
Reaper, etc.), and his two sublimesl odes {Duty is.\\& hitima- 
lions of Immortality). To a later stage belong many poems 
which, if on the whole less spontaneous and consistently poeti- 
cal, are nevertheless full of mature thought and characteristic 
beauty. Among these are The Excursion, The White Doe of 
Rylston, — a charming romantic narrative, — and the lofty 
classic poem Laodamia. Wordsworth's life was idyllically 
peaceful. Simple living, the constant companionship with 
nature in her fairest moods, the loving service of poetry, a 
home full of love and sympathy, — such were the elements of 
his life. Wordsworth was made Poet Laureate in 1843, and 
died in 1850. \Int. Eng. Lit, 308.] 



676 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



TINTERN ABBEY. 

293. This poem was written in 1798 and published the 
same year in The Lyrical Ballads. Wordswortb had been at 
Bristol, arranging sundry details with Cottle, who was to pub- 
lish the book. The business being completed, he left for a 
short trip. Crossing the Severn and proceeding up the river 
Wye, he stopped to see again the beautiful ruins of Tinteru 
Abbey, which he had visited last in 1793. Wordsworth gives 
the following account of the composition of the poem thus 
suggested : "I began it upon leaving Tintern, after crossing 
the Wye, and concluded it just as I was entering Bristol in 
the evening, after a ramble of four or five days, with my sister. 
Not a line of it was altered, and not any part of it written 
down till 1 reached Bristol." 

294. — 12. Which at this season. Wordsworth's visit was 
made in the early part of July. — 25. But oft, in lonely rooms, etc. 
Cf. "But oft when on my couch I lie," etc., in 1 wandered 
lonely as a cloud," and collect other instances in Wordsworth 
of the influence of natural scenes or sounds recollected at a 
later time. 

295,-42. The affections. This appears to mean the feel- 
ings or emotions by which a thing is directly or intuitively 
perceived, as contrasted with the reason or intellect. " This 
term is applied to all the modes of the sensibility, or to all 
states of mind in which we are purely passive " (Krauth, 
Vocah. of the Phil. Sciences.) 45-49. Laid asleep in body, etc. 
This remarkable passage is perhaps the greatest description to 
be found in poetry of a state of mystical exaltation or ecstasy. 
The recognition of such a state, so far from being peculiar to 
Wordsworth, has entered into various philosophical systems 
or religions from an early period. This state has been well 
described in the article on " Mysticism" in Enc. Brit. XVII. 
128. James Freeman Clarke says ; * ' Mysticism may be 
called the belief that man can come into union with the 
Infinite Being by means of a wholly passive self-surrender to 
divine influence. The organ in man by which he thus com- 
munes with God is not will nor reason ; it is not moral nor 
intellectual, but a hidden faculty of the soul behind them all. 
In the ecstatic moment of this union, time, space, body, soul, 
personal existence, all disappear, and man becomes absorbed 
into the Divine Being." {Events and Epochs in Religious His- 
tory, 276.) Wordsworth himself was a natural mystic, and 
his friend Coleridge was early fascinated by the writings of 
Plotinus, one of the Neo-Platonists. — 67 When like a roe, etc. 
Cf. with this whole passage the contrast between the boyish 



WORDSWORTH 677 

and the mature feeling towards nature in Ode on Intimations 
of Immortality, especially stanzas x-xi. 

296.— 101. All thinking things all objects of all thought, 
etc. Wordsworth was naturally predisposed to dwell on the 
presence, or " immanence," of God in nature, i.e., in what 
we call the physical, or material, world; in this passage, how- 
ever, he includes also the idea of God immanent in the soul, 
as an indwelling, impelling principle. The views of Carlyle 
and Browning on this whole matter may be advantageously 
compared with those of Wordsworth.— 106. Both what they 
half create, etc. The total or ultimate effect of the sight of 
any aspect of nature upon each individual observer, is partly 
the result of a simple, sensuous perception, and partly of the 
emotional or intellectual state associated with that perception 
and largely modifying it. The images of objective phenomena, 
impressed upon the mind by the senses, are so clothed and 
colored by the personality of the observer, so endowed with 
sentiments, or mingled with associations, that each observer 
may be said to half perceive and half cieate the world, so far 
as he himself is concerned. Cf. Coleridge, Dejection: an Ode. 

297.— 121. My dear, dear sister ! Dorothy Wordsworth, 
only sister of the poet, was between three and four years his 
senior. She also had a fine perception of natural beauty, and 
a true poetic feeling. She devoted her life to her brother, and 
was his almost constant helper and companion. Wordsworth's 
poetry is full of evidences of the extent of his indebtedness to 
her for suggestion, direct help, or sympathetic interest, and 
he has immortalized his appreciation of her devotion by poetic 
tributes like the one in question. It is of her that he says : 

" She gave me eyes, she gave me ears. 
And humble cares, and delicate fears : 
A heart the fountain of sweet tears, 
And love, and faith, and joy." 

(See Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal in Scotland, and Dorothy 
Wordsworth: The Story of a Sister's Love, by Edmund Lee.) 

298-9. Expostulation a7idBeply and The Tables Tuvjiedare 
companion-poems, presenting the same lesson from a slightly 
different aspect. In each poem the sixth stanza is especially 
well known and noteworthy. Both poems were written in 
1798, and appeared in the Lyrical Ballads in that year. 

300-2. Three Tears She Grew and S7ie Dwelt among the 
Untrodden Ways. These poems were written in 1799, during 
Wordsworth's stay in Germany. In the midst of strange 
surroundings his "mind recurued to his native land, and to 
the scenes of his early youth." Both poems belong to a re- 



678 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



markable group relating to some one whom the poet calls 
Lucy. It is uoticeuble that while Wordsworth's notes on his 
otlier poems are usually full, he has passed over this group 
without comment. A knowledge of the original of Lucy 
(assuming that she existed outside of the imagination) and of 
all the circumstances which may have suggested these poems, 
while it might gratify curiosity, could hardly increase either 
our understanding or our enjoyment. Lucy " lived un 
known," and her poet seems to have fittingly chosen to hide 
her from public view. 

SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS. 

30*2. — 2. The Springs of Dove. There are at least two rivers 
of this name in England, one in Yorkshire, the other in Derby- 
•shire. I do not know which stream the poet had in mind, but 
a German romancer, who has made this conjectured meeting 
of Wordsworth with Lucy the theme of a novel, places the 
scene of the novel in Yorkshire. (For Dovedale in Derbyshire 
see Prelude, Bk. VI. 193.) 

MICHAEL. 

This poem was written at Town-end Grasmere in 1800, and 
published in the second edition of the Lyrical Ballads, which 
appeared in the same year. In a letter of dedication to Charles 
James Fox, Wordsworth says that through the poems of Mi- 
chael !ind The BrotJiers (which appeared in the same volume) 
he wished to call attention to a matter of public interest to 
statesmen. After lamenting the rapid decline of domestic 
affection among the lower classes, Wordsworth attributes it, at 
least in part, to the spread of manufactures, workhouses, shops, 
etc.; the spirit of independence he believes to be rapidly dis- 
appearing. Imt not extinct. He then proceeds : "In the two 
poems The Brothers and Michael I have attempted to draw a 
picture of the domestic affections as I know they exist among 
a class of men who are now almost confined to the North of 
England. They are small inde|)endent proprietors of land. 
. . . The domestic affections will alwa^^s be strong in men 
who live in districts not crowded with population, if these 
men are placed above poverty. . . . Tl)eir little tract of land 
seems as a kind of permanent rallyingpoint for their domestic 
feelings, . . . wiiich makes them objects of memory in a 
thousand instances, when they would otherwise be forgotten." 
After intimating that the efforts of Fox have been given to 
the preservation of this class, Wordsworth continues: "The 
two poems which I have mentioned were written with a view 



WORDSWORTH 679 

to show that men who do not wear fine clothes can feel 
deeply." 

The exact spot in Gieeuhead Ghyll where the sbeepfold 
stood cannot now be determiued. "When the poet and Ms 
sister visited it in 1800, the sbeepfold was already "falling 
away." In the entry in her Journal (October 11, 1800) which 
records the after-dinner ramble to the scene of poor Micbael's 
toils, Dorothy Wordsworth describes the sbeepfold as "built 
in the form of a heart unequally divided." 

2. Green-head Ghyll. Gbyll is a narrow valhy or ravine ; 
the word is used especially of tbose valleys which have 
streams rushing through them. (See Gent. Did.) 

303.— 24, 25. Not verily for their own sakes. Notice liere 
the cbaracteristic order in which Wordsworth places first na- 
ture, then man, in his afCections. 

306.— 184. High into Easedale, etc. Easedale is about 
half a mile from Grasmere, which was Wordsworth's home 
for many yeais ; and from there begins a long ascent to the 
Pass of Dunmail-Raise, which is situated about three miles 
north from Grasmere. 

308.— 180. Coppice = a wood, or thicket formed of trees 
of small growih ; copse is a contraction of coppice. — 199. 
Objects which the shepherd loved before. Note that the relation 
between the sympathy with man and the sympathy with na- 
ture is a theme recurring through the poem. Wordsworth 
learns to love shepherds, from loving their haunts. The shep- 
herd comes to love nature from daily companionship with her, 
and then loves her more and more, through his human affec- 
tion for his son (the converse of the first instance). — 209. 
Distressful tidings, etc. The pastoral peace in the poem is dis- 
turbed by the world of money-making without. Even in these 
hills it comes to destroy. 

310. — 455. Among the rocks, etc. We see in the end how 
the shepherd turns to nature for comfort ; and notice also 
how the old man has sought to entwine pastoral association 
with his son's last recollections of home. 

"MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD." 

317. This was written at Town-end, Grasmere, in 1802. 
It is notable as a concise yet comprehensive statement of one 
of the important doctrines in Woidsworth's philosophy, which 
reappears in various poems with a great wealth of illustration. 
This doctrine is the importance of certain primitive emotions 
of childhood, and the desirability of retaining them through 
life, as an antidote to the cfftcls of contact with the world. 
Wordsworth himself has pointed out the connection between 



680 THOMSON TO TENNYSOK 

the concluding lines of this poem and bis Ode on the Intima- 
tions of Immortality. Cf. also The Cuckoo, The Reverie of 
Poor Susan, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (p. 325), Three 
Tears She Grew (p. 300), and see Int. Eng. Lit. 315-16. 

THE SOLITARY REAPER. 

This poem, composed in 1803 and published in 1807, was 
suggested (according to Dorothy Wordsworth) by a beautiful 
sentence in Thomas Wilkinson's "Tour in Scotland." Prof. 
Knight has succeeded in identifying the sentence referred to, 
which is as follows: "Passed a female who was reaping 
alone ; she sung in Erac, as she bended over her sickle ; the 
sweetest human voice I ever heard : her strains were tenderly 
melancholy, and felt delicious, long after they were Jteard no 
more." [Italics mine.] (See Knight's Wordsworth, II. 347.) 

ODE. INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM 
RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. 

318. This ode, one of the noblest in the language, was 
written at Town-end, Grasmere, in 1803 and 1806. Words- 
worth says that there was an interval of two years "between 
the writing of the first four stanzas and the remaining part." 
(For fuller study of the poem, see Int. Eng. Lit. 319-22.) 

319.— 28. The fields of sleep, etc. The passage has been 
thus explained : " The morning breeze blowing from the fields 
that were dark during the hours of sleep." (Hawes Turner, 
quoted by Knight.) I am inclined to think that Wordsworth 
was thinking simply of the peaceful, quiet fields, as, e.g., in 

"The silence that is in tlie starry sky. 
The sleep that is among: the lonely" hills." 

{Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle.) 

The "fields of sleep" are, in this view, not the fields lately 
covered with darkness, for that is equally true of the whole 
region, but the remote places full of this quiet of repose. 

320.— 72. Nature's Priest. Wordsworth himself has often 
been spoken of as the "High-priest of Nature," and his poetic 
disciple Matthew Arnold, says of him: 

" But he was a priest to us all 
Of the wonder and bloom of the world." 

(The Youth of Nature.) 

321. — 103. "Humorous stage," i.e., the stage on which 
men and women are exhibited in the various moods, whims, 
or caprices ("business, love, or strife"). The persons {i.e., 



WORDSWORTH 681 



the dramatis persoim), brought forward on this stage, not 
only thus show man in his diverse pursuits, or whims, but 
mau at ever}- stage of life. — 105. Equipage = retiuue, train. — 
118. Thy Immortality. Immortality here, as throughout the 
poem, is used rather to describe the eternal sphere of things, 
as contrasted with the temporal, than in its ordinary sense of 
undying. Tlie idea is that the light of this eternal sphere yet 
broods over the child. 

322.— 128. Almost as life. Note the force of the word 
"nlmofct" here. It introduces the next stanza, which shows 
us that custom, however heavily it may lie on the soul, does 
not entirely obscure or extinguish the "something" of 
heavenly origin which still lives.— 141. But for those obstinate 
questionings. One of the evidences, in Wordsworth's view, 
of our uaiural affinity with an eternal sphere or order of 
things is the child's imperfect accommodation to earthly con- 
ditions. Thus in the following passage a momentary doubt 
of the objective reality of the material world is described. 
In this state objective things seem falling aw^ay from his 
grasp, and the strangeness of a woild in which he is but an 
alien fills him with "blank misgivings." Wordsworth, in 
explaining the passage, tells us that it is founded on experi- 
ences of his own childhood. He tells us that at times the ex- 
ternal world became vague and unreal to him, and adds : 
"Many times while going to school have I grasped at a wall 
or tree to recall myself from this abyss of idealism to the 
reality." 

I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD. 

324. Written at Town-end, Grasmere, in 1804, and pub- 
lished in 1807. Wordsworth tells us that "the daffodils 
grew, and still grow, on the margin of Ullswater, and probably 
may be seen to this day as beautiful in the month of March, 
nodding their golden heads beside the dancing and foaming 
waves." — 21. They flash upon that inward eye. This line and 
the one following were composed by Mrs. Wordsworth. It is 
to this that the poet refers when he says of the poem : " The 
two best lines in it are by Mary." 

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. 

325. This poem was composed in 1804 and published in 
1807. It is supposed to have been inspired by Wordsworth's 
wife, Mary Hutchinson. The poet's own comment on the 
verses is as follows : "Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The 
germ of this poem was four lines composed as a part of the 



683 THOMSON TO TENNYSON" 

verses on the Highland Girl. Th^uigh beginning in this way, 
it was written from my heart, as is sufficiently obvious." 

ODE TO DUTY. 

326. This ode was composed in 1805 and published in 
1807. It ranks with Wordsworth's greatest works and is even 
placed by Swinburne above the yet more fannVvdv Imniortaliti/ 
Ode for pme poetic excellence. (Art. on " Wordsworth and 
Byron," in Miscellanies, 135.) 

Wordsworth himself pointed out what may be called its 
poetic ancestry. "This ode is on the model," he remarks, 
" of Gray's Ode to Adversity, which is copied from Horace's 
Ode to Fortune." (I. xxxv.) "But," he adds in pencil, "is 
not the first stanza of Gray's from a chorus in ^schylus? 
And is not Horace's Ode also modelled on the Greek ? " 

The ethical teaching of the Ode to Duty supplements and 
completes that of the Ode on the Intimations of Immortality. 
By combining the doctrines of the two poems we see that, 
in Wordsworth's view, there are two guides to conduct : 
first, natural emotion, or the impulse of an unspoilt nature; 
and second, conscience, the voice which prompts a de- 
liberate choice of right, the mens conscia recti. Both of 
these guides may be said to be of a tninscendcntal or super- 
human character. The first, tlie kindly impulse, shows our 
original nearness to the Divine order, and is the "fountain- 
light of all our day"; the other, the appointed corrective of 
the first, is that sense of obedience to a Divine order, or law, 
which regulates the universe and "preserves the stars from 
wrong." This poem is an exception to Wordsworth's teach- 
ing, in that it emphasizes the importance of this second 
guide, — duty, or conscience,— as a restraining power. In 
most of his other poems, such as Sonnet XX VII, Tlie Mountain 
Echo, etc., natural emotion or impulse is dwelt upon as all- 
sufficient. 

15, 16. Long may, etc. Wordsworth altered these lines to : 

" Oh ! if through coufidence misplaced 
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power 1 around them cast." 

But I have ventured to retain the earlier version. 

SONNETS. 

328. Wordsworth holds his deservedly high place among 
English sonnet-writers for several distinct reasons. He has 
written some of the finest sonnets in the language ; sonnets 
comparable in force to the trumpet-notes of Milton, sonnets 



COLEEIDGE 683 

filled with a deep and quiet wisdom or a delicate beauty. 
But this is not all. Other English poets have produced some 
single sonnets of a high order : Wordsworth's place as sonnet- 
eer rests not merely on the excellence of certain individual 
sonnets, but on the magnitude and variety of his contributi( ns 
to sonnet literature. Indeed, if numbers alone are considered, 
Wordsworth is probably not excelled by any other English 
sonneteer. Finally, Wordsworth bears an important relation 
to the history of sonnet-wriling. The sonnet, cultivated in 
England during the sixteenth and the greater part of Ihe 
seventeenth century, was neglected by Dryden, Pope, and 
their poetic kindred ; when an awakening England turned 
back to the verse of the Elizabethans, the sonnet, like the 
Spenserian stanza, was revived. Gray, Warton, Mason, and 
William Lisle Bowles, in turn assisted in thus restoring the 
sonnet to its lost dignity, but it is Wordsworth's distinction to 
be the first really great English sonnet-writer after Milion. 

COLERIDGE. 

331. Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) was prob- 
ably the most variously gifted, brilliant, and inspiring Eng- 
lishman of his generation. Not only is he one of the glories 
ofEnglishpoetiy; in the philosophy, theology, literary criticism, 
and even the journalism of his time he was a force to be reck- 
oned with. Hardly less remarkable was his direct personal 
influence upon some of his greatest contemporaries, and 
through them upon his own and succeeding times. Many cir- 
cumstances connect Coleridge with the so-called "Lake Poets." 
He was a friend of Southey and of Wordsworth. He com- 
posed a youthful poem in conjunction with Southey, he united 
with Wordsworth in the production of The Lyrical Ballads. 
He wrote the best critical exposition of Wordsworth's poetic 
principles; he lived for some years near Southey in the Lake 
District. But the bond that united these three Lake poets 
was mainly tliat of friendly intercourse and congenial aims. 
The term " Lake School " is more truly applied to the poets 
than to their poetry: for while they were united in their lives, 
in their works they were sometimes widely divided. Thus 
Coleridge, although he sympathized with Wordsworth's theory 
of poetry, and himself employed the same general manner in 
some of his poems, yet won his most characteristic triumphs 
in poetry of a wholly different order. Wordsworth is in the 
direct line of succession from Thomson, Cowper, and Crabbe, 
while Coleridge's affiliations are rather with the old Ballads and 
Ossian, with Chatterton, Blake, and the great prophet of 



684 THOMSON TO TBNKYSOK 

Mediaevalisin, Walter Scott. la The Ancient Mariner and 
Christabel, Coleiidge takes the popular ballad,— with its sim- 
plicity and beauty, its primilive, haunting dread of the 
unknown, its occasional crudity and vulgarity, — he takes 
this rhyme of the people, and, preserving much of its force 
and directness, he refines, glorifies, and lifts it up. To 
at all appreciate Coleridge's poems of tins order, we must 
recognize their place in the history of English Romanticism, 
connecting them with the publication of Percy's lleliqucs (1765) 
on the one hand, and on the other with Keats' Eoe of St. 
Agnes, and with Morris, Rossetti, and the Pre-Raphaelites. 

THE ANCIENT MARINER. 

331. The Ancient Mariner, planned by Coleridge and 
"Wordsworth as they walked over the Quantock Hills in 
Somersetshire, was begun in November, 1797, and completed 
by the following March. In The Prelude, Wordsworth refers 
as follows to the circumstances under which the poem took 
shape : 

"That summer, under whose indulg^ent skies, 
Upon smootli Quantock's airy ridge we stood 
Unchecked, or loitered 'mid her sylvan combs, 
Thou in bewitching: words, with happy heart, 
Didst chaunt the vision of that Ancient Man, 
The bright-eyed Mariner," etc. 

The first idea of the two poets was to write the 7?/??Z(? together, 
but the plan of joint composition soon proved to be imprac- 
ticable. Wordsworth s-iys that "the greatest part of the story 
was Coleridge's invention," and in every way Wordsworth's 
share in the work was comparatively trifling. Evidentlj'' Cole- 
ridge had found a subject particularly suited to his genius, 
Wordsworth apparently recognized this, and left the poem in 
his friend's hands. (See Memoirs of William Wordsicorth, by 
Christopher Wordsworth, D.D. ; Coleridge's Biographia 
Literaria, Ch. XIV.) The poem appeared in the first edition 
of The Lyrical Ballads (1798); it was reprinted with consider- 
able omissions and alterations in the second edition of that 
memorable book in 1800. The marginal gloss, which taken 
by itself is a singularly beautiful example of elevated and 
imaginative prose, did not appear with it then or in the two 
subsequent editions, and, according to Wordsworth, it was 
not spoken of when the poem was planned. 

The so-called " sources" of the poem have been frequently 
commented upon and need not be again discussed here. (See 
The Source of " The Ancient Mariner," by Ivor James. Car- 
diff, 1890, and The Poetical Works of Coleridge, ed. b}-^ James 



COLERIDGE 685 

Dykes Campbell, 593 et seq.). That Coleridge did avail him- 
self of various outside material in the composition of this poem 
is beyond question ; how far such external hints were really 
suggestions to the poet's imaginat'on is another matter. It is 
probably safe to say that aYtcr every known external sug- 
gestion has been taken into account — the friend's dream of a 
skeleton-ship, "with figures in it" ; the passage in Shelvockes 
Voyages which led Wordsworth to suggest the shooting of the • 
albatross ; the narrative of The Strange and Dangerous Voyage 
of Captain TJiomas James — when all these are summed up and 
allowed for, we feel that the true sources of the poem were 
within, and that our wonder over it as an original imaginative 
creation remains unimpaired. 

An elaborate attempt was made {Journal of Speculative Phi- 
losophy, July, 1880) to interpret the poem allegorically, and 
Mr. George Macdouald is credited with having expressed a 
similar view. While sound criticism forbids us to regard such 
attempts as more than ingenious speculations, there can be no 
doubt that the poem has a definite moral purpose and teach- 
ing, Coleridge himself settled this question when he told 
Mrs. Barbauld, who complained that the poem had no moral, 
that its chief fault was " the obtrusion of the moral senti- 
ment" in a work "of pure imagination." {Table Talk, May 
31, 1830.) Nor is the precise uatuie of this moral hard to 
discover. How shall a man love God who loves not his 
brother? or how shall he pray who sins against the law of love 
(ven in the world of God's lower creatures? Retribution for 
the violation of this law, and deliverance from the conse- 
quences of that violation, are the theme of the poem. (See 
Int. Eng. Lit. 332 et seq.) 

The mood of the pnet towards the unseen — a mood which 
we must throw ourselves into if we would get the full feeling 
of the poem — is indicated in the following motto, which was 
originally prefixed to it : "Facile credo, phires esse Naturas 
invisibiles in reruni universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam 
quis nobis enarrabit? et gradus et cognationes et discrimina 
et singulorum munera? Quid agunt? Quse loca habitant? 
Harum rerum notitiam semper ambivit ingenium humanum, 
nunquam attigit. Juvat, interea, nou difliteor, quandoque in 
animo, tanquam in Tabula, majoris et melioris mundi imagi- 
nem contemplari : ne mens assuefacta hodiernse vitse minutiis 
se contrahat nimis, et tota subsidat in pusillas cogitationes. 
Sed veritati interea invigilandum est, modusque servandus. 
ut certa ab incertis diem a noctc, distinguamus." (T, 
Burnet, Archml. Phil. p. 68.) (That the^e are in the 
universe more invisible than visible Natures, I readily be- 
lieve. But who shall declare to us the family, the ranks, the 



686 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

relationships, the differences, the respective functions of all 
these creatures? What do ihey? Where do they inhabit? 
Human nature hath ever circled about, but hath never attained 
this knowledge. Meanwhile it is profitable, I doubt not, to 
contemplate at seasons with the mind's eye, as in a picture, the 
vision of this greater and better world, lest the mind, accus- 
tomed to the petty concerns of daily life, grow too narrow, 
and sink altogether into trifling thoughts. But, at the same 
time, we must be watchful for truth and observe restraint, 
that we may distinguish certain from uncertain, day from 
night.) 

The feeling that there are more things in heaven and earth 
than are dreamt of in our philosophy, the suggestion of a 
world of mysterious presences, too tine in general for our 
limited perceptions, but here revealed through an exceptional 
situation — all this is impressed upon the poem. A few allu- 
sions to familiar things — the harbor, the hill which overlooks 
it, the kirk, and the lighthouse — skilfully place the ordinary 
in contrast with those remote ocean-solitudes beyond the reach 
of couinion experience. These unknown regions form an ap- 
propriate setting for the wonders of the story. We are led to 
invest the Mariner with something of that awe with which in 
old times men regarded the traveller returned from a far 
country full of a store of marvellous experiences. 

331.— 12. Eftsoons = soon jif ter. after awhile. {Eft - after, 
again ; sone = soon.)— 13. Glittering eye. The Mariner first 
arrests the Weilding Guest by a physical grasp, then — that 
proving ineffectual— by a purely spiritual power. It is through 
the eye that mind speaks most directly to mind ; through the 
eye that the imperative compelling force of the human will is 
e-xerted with the least physical intervention. The belief in 
this mysterious, compelling power is ancient and wide-spread. 
Even animals are supposed to be unable to resist it. Cf. also 
the power by which the cat and the serpent fascinate their 
victim. 

333.-63, An Albatross. The albatross was considered by 
sailors a bird of good omen. The Mariner's crime is made 
blacker by this and other circumstances which are carefully 
enumerated. It comes in a time of danger, and responds to 
the s.iilors' welcome by trusting them, by eating their food, 
then it delivers them from their perils. Moreover, we are told 
(1. 404) that the bird " loved the man that shot him with his 
bow." 

334. — 83. Upon the right, i.e., the ship was now going 
northward (cf. 1. 25). — 120 And all the boards, etc. "And" 
here is used rather in the sense of hut or noticiihstanding. (Cf. 
the instances of the adversative use of and in Murray's Eng. 



COLERIDGE 687 

Diet, "And," II. 7, 8.)— 133. The spirit, etc. The tutelary 
spirit of this Southern Polar region, who loved the albatross, 
(Cf. 1. 404-5 ) 

330.— 141, Instead of the cross, etc. The dead albatross is 
the visible sigu of the Mariner's transgression ; his burden of 
sin, it takes the place of the sigu of man's deliverance from 
sin. 

337. — 164. Gramercy. Literally "Many thanks" {Grand 
merci). 

338.— 193. Life in-Death. The casting of the dice results 
in Life-in-Death winning the Mariner. He is reserved, that is, 
for a living death. Death, apparently by a previous throw., 
has won his comrades It is difficult to reconcile the descrip- 
tion of Life-i7i- Death with the subsequent adventures of the 
Mariner. She is apparently a personification of lawless 
pleasure, and has a bold and evil beauty. Apart from the 
sequence, it would seem as though the text, "She that liveth 
in pleasure is dead while she liveth " (i. Tim. v. 6), had been 
in the poet's mind. Perliaps Coleridge wished to bring her 
before us as a general embodiment of one dead in sin, without 
regard to her particular part in the poem.— 212 Star-dogged 
Moon. " It is a common superstition among sailors that some- 
thing evil is about to happen whenever a star dogs the moon.'' 
(Coleridge.) 

339.-232. Alone, alone. Loneliness is the inevitable con- 
sequence of a sin against the law of love, the bond of brotlier- 
hood. The Mariner again recurs to his loneliness in the final 
summing up of his experience (11. 597-610), evidently regarding 
it as the essential element in his sufferings. 

341. — 284. A spring of love. The power to pray, lost by 
wanton cruelty to one of God's creatures, is regained by a 
spontaneous impulse of love towards the "happy living 
things." 

342.-297. The silly buckets. The exact sense of " silly '' 
here is not easy to determine. The original meaning of the 
word is happy (A. S. soelig = happy), then simple or innocent, 
then foolish. Spenser also uses it, in the sense of helpless or 
frail, of a ship long storm-beaten. Coleridge may mean that 
the buckets are blessed or happy, because they are again being 
filled with water, or that they were foolish because they, 
whose office it was to hold water, had stood so long empty, as 
if in an absurd mockery. 

350.— 535. Ivy tod = ivy bush. 

352.-601-609. sweeter than, etc. Note that as the 
worst penance of the Mariner is loneliness, alienation from God 
and man, so the sweetest tiling for him in life \s fellowship w\\\\ 
man and the nearness to God through prayer. The two fol- 



688 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

lowing verses (11, 610-617) sum up the essential teaching of 
the poem. (See Int. Eng. Lit. 334.) 

YOUTH AND AGE. WORK WITHOUT HOPE. 

354-5. Nearly all of Coleridge's best poetry was written 
between 1796 and 1801. This brief period mc\n<\Q?,KublaKhan, 
The Ancient Mariner, Ghristabel, and the translation of Wallen- 
stein. That Coleridge should have produced so much noble 
poetry in five years is surprising, but that he should have pro- 
duced so little poetry in the remaining fifty-seven years of his 
life is more surprising still. But during the period of over 
thirty years that succeeded this time of poetic productiveness, 
Coleridge produced at long intervals a few poems of an exceed- 
ingly high order. Among these are the touchingly personal 
revelations, Youth and Age, and Work Without Hope, both of 
which express hopeless resignation, the pathetic patience which 
marked his closing years. "The first draft of the exquisite 
Youth and Age," says Mr. James Dykes Campbell, "is dated 
September 10, 1823, and seems to have been inspired by a 
day-dream of happy Quantock times." As at first printed in 
1828. it closed at the thirty-eighth line. The last fourteen lines 
were composed in 1832, and added to the poem two years later. 
Work Without Hope was written in 1827. Mr. Campbell well 
says, in speaking of the poems of this period, "although now 
'a common grayness silvers everything,' the old magic still 
mingles with the colors on the palette. Coleridge's attitude 
as he now looked over the wide landscape, where all nature 
seemed at work, and he, held in the bondage of a spell of his 
ovv!i creating, the sole unbusy thing, recalls Browning's 
picture of Andrea del Sarto walching the lights of Fiesole die 
out one by one, like his own hopes and ambitions. Coleridge 
also remembered days when he could leave the ground and 
'put on the glory, Raphael's daily wear' — now he, himself a 
very Raphael, asks only to 'sit the gray remainder of his 
evening out,' and 'muse perfectly how he could paint — were 
he but back in France.'" 



SOUTHEY. 

356. Robert Southey, the youngest of the three poets of 
the "Lake School," was born at Bristol in 1774. As a young 
man he shared in the boundless hopes and passionate enthusi- 
asms engendered in so many generous spirits by the beginning 
of the French Revolution; in later life he became an extreme 
conservative. By the time he was twenty he had begun his 



WHITE 689 

career as a poet by the publication, with R. Lovell, of a vol- 
ume of Poems (1794). In 1804 he established himself Dear 
Coleridge at Greta Hall, Keswick, aud settled down to a life 
of painstaking and incessant literary labor. His life was in 
many respects that of a typical man of letters. He accumu- 
lated a library of 14,000 volumes; he was an enormous reader 
and an industrious writer. He plannc d and partially com- 
pleted a series of epics to illustrate the great religions of 
the world; he wrote histories, biographies, and innumerable 
magazine articles; he edited and collected other men's poetry, 
aud all the while wrote poetry himself. He became famous, 
but remained poor; hampered by narrow means, he lost neither 
his high aims nor his confidence in himself. He was chosen 
Poet Laureate in 1813, and died in 1843. 

Southey's poetry, admired by some of liis greatest contem- 
poraries, is now generally ignored by readers and slighted by 
critics, and it is not likely that his long poems will ever hold 
more than a nominal place in our literature. Yet Southey had 
something, at least, of the true poet in him, and out of the 
diffuse mass of his verse some of the short poems are certainly 
likely to long survive. In prose he is admittedly among the 
masters. Byron pronounced his prose " perfect," and later 
critics are not inclined to dissent from this judgment. As a 
man he commands universal admiration and respect. 

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 

The Battle of Blenheim was written in 1798. The coDipli- 
cated question of the Spanish succession in 1700 brought about 
a war in which England was involved. John Churchill, the 
great Duke of Marlborough, was made commander-in-chief of 
the English and Dutch forces, who were fighting against the 
French claimant to the throne of Spain. Marlborough, assisted 
by Prince Eugene of Savoy, won a celebrated victory over the 
French and Bavarians at Blenheim, August 13, 1704. 



WHITE. 

360. Joseph Blanco White (1775-1841) was born in 
Spain and took orders as a Romish priest. Doubts of Catholi- 
cism led him to escape to England in 1810, where he settled 
at Oxford and joined the English Church. He edited at Lon- 
don a Spanish paper and wrote for the magazines. Most of 
his literary work dealt with religious problems and was of 
only temporary value; but he is justly remembered for his 
sonnet To Night. This sonnet was dedicated to Coleridge, 



690 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

who cousidered it "the best in the English language" ; Leigh 
Hunt says of it : "In point of thought the soiinet stands su- 
preme, perhaps above all in any language." 

SCOTT. 

360. Walter Scott was born at Edinburgh in 1771, and 
died at Abbotsford, the old-world house which he built by the 
Tweed, in 1832. If Wordsworth was born into one of the 
loveliest districts of the British Isles, Scott (who came within 
a year of being the same age) was born into the most romantic. 
In that historic Border-country — wasted by old-time forays 
and once fought over by the knighthood of two gallant na- 
tions — almost every landscape, beautiful as it may be in it 
self, is invested with an added charm of wonder and poetry 
by the associations of a chivalric past. Not only was Scott 
born in this natural home of Romanticism; he belonged by 
descent to the days of Border warfare, and the bloud of some 
of those stubborn lighters was in his veins. Scott came into 
the world at a lime when men's minds had already begun to 
turn to the lately-despised Middle Ages with a new curiosity 
and delight, for already that side of the protest against eigh- 
teenth-ceniury materialism which has been called " The Re- 
naissance of Wonder " had begim. Inheritance, natural dis- 
position, early surroundings, and the pressure of his age, all 
combined to give Scott that leading place in this Second Renais- 
sance which he soon took and retained. He responded to 
the impulse which came to him from the rising Romanticism 
of Germany, and his first published poem was a translation of 
Biirger's ballad of Lenore, 1796. But his best inspiration 
came from his own land. He contributed two original bal- 
lads, dealing witli Scottish themes, to a collection of pieces 
brought out by M. G. ("Monk") Lewis, entitled Tales of 
Wonder (1800). The loving minuteness of his researches into 
the past is shown by his Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border 
(1803-3), a collection of old ballads which exercised an in- 
fluence hardly inferior to that of Percy's Reliques. The Lay 
of the Last Minstrel (1805), his first long origiual poem, was 
the natural successor of these early labors. It was received 
with enthusiasm, and with its publication Scott entered upon 
a long period of popularity phenomenal in the annals of 
authorship. From this time until the appearance of Byron's 
Childe Harold in 1812, Scott surpassed his greatest poetical 
contemporaries in popular favor. Having conquered the 
world by his verse, he next conquered it a second time by his 
prose, and by his publication of Waverley in 1814 began a 



I 



SCOTT 691 



series of triumphs in a new field. Whether in prose or verse, 
he was the Magician who, more than any other, threw open 
to all men the newly recovered regions of wonder and delight. 
Others among his contemporaries or immediate successors 
may have had a finer or rarer poetic gift, but in the "Re- 
naissance of Wonder'" none could approach him in influence 
on his own and succeeding times. Byron was his followei in 
romantic poetry, Dumas in romantic prose. When the extent 
and variety of liis worli is fairly taken into account we are im- 
pressed by a creative energy that for ricliness, ease, and 
power is almost unmatched in modern literature. 

HAROLD'S SONG TO ROSABELLE. 

This poem originally appeared in the Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border (1802), and was afterwards incorporated into 
the Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

BALLAD. ALICE BRAND. 

362. S ott tells us that this poem is founded on a Danish 
ballad which occurs in the Kcempe Viser, a collection of songs 
first published in 159L 

Canto XIL— 2. Mavis, Merle = thrush, and blackbird.— 
8, Wold. Although this word originally meant wood or forest, 
it somehow acquired the directly opposite meaning, of a field 
or open country. It is used here in this second sense. 

363. — 14. Glaive = sword.— 17. Pall = a covering, mantle. 
— 25. Vair = a kind of fur. 

364. Canto XIII.— 37. Elfin King. In his comments on 
this poem Scott quotes from Dr. Graham's Scenery of the 
Perthshire Hiyhlands. Graham says that the Highland elves 
were not absolutely malevolent, but rather envious of man- 
kind. " They are believed to inhabit certain round grassy 
eminences, where they celebrate their nocturnal festivi- 
ties , . ." Mortals were sometimes admitted to their secret 
abodes, and if they partook of their fare forfeited any return 
to human society. (See Scott's Demonology and Witchcraft, 
Letter IV.— 38. Won'd = dwelt.— 48. Christen'd man. The 
idea that an evil spirit could be dispelled by the sign of the 
cross was univeisally held, and although the elves were not 
necessarily in league with the powers of darkness, they also 
were thought to dread the Christian sign. 

365. Canto XV.— 92. It was between, etc. The popular 
belief that witches, fairies, ghosts, and the like had an especial 
l)ower in the middle hours of the night is frequently referied 
to in literature (see Bam. I, 1. 15()). In his Witchcraft and 



693 THOMSON TO TENNYSON" 

Demonology, Scott says that the elves kidnapped adults as well 
as children, but only when the former were "engaged in some 
unlawful action, or in the act of giving way to some headlong 
and sinful passion." 
366.— 111. Dunfermline. See n. on Sir Patrick Spens, 1. 1. 

EDMUND'S SONG. 

Palgrave remarks that " this poem exemplifies the peculiar 
skill with which Scott employs proper names — a rarely mis- 
leading sign of true poetical genius." Greta woods are on the 
Greta River in Yorkshire; the estate of Rokeby was situated 
at the junction of this river with the Tees. 

A WEARY LOT IS THINE. 

368. Scott says that the closing lines of this song are " taken 
from the fragment of an old Scottish ballad." of which he 
could only reciill two verses. The last six lines reproduce 
with only a trifling modification, the third verse of the orig- 
inal ballad, which ran as follows : 

" He turned him round and right about, 
All on the Irish shore ; 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake. 
With, Adieu for evermore. 

Mj dear! 
Adieu for evermore!" 

In his skilful use of chance suggestions from old songs and 
ballads Scott resembles Shakespeare and Burns, and some of 
his happiest lyrics have been composed in this fashion. (See 
Beers' English Romanticism in the ISlh Century, 277. ) 

SONG, THE CAVALIER. 

370. The events related in Rokehy are supposed to have 
taken place immediately after the battle of Marston Moor in 
1644, when the stiuggle between Cavalier and Puritan was the 
great issue of the time. This song has therefore an especial 
appropriateness. 

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 

373. This is another instance of Scott's .successful use of 
the early minstrelsy. The first stanza is ancient, the original 
ballad being "Jock o' Hazel Green." 

MADGE WILDFIRE'S SONG. 

374. This is one of the pathetic snatches of song which 
Scott represents the unhappy Madge Wildfire as singing on 



CAMPBELL 693 



btr deathbed {Htcirt of Midlothian, Cb. XXXIX). Its melan- 
cboly suggestiveness is greatly beigbteued by the ciicum- 
stiiuces with wbich Scott associates it. As he says : "It was 
remarkable that there could always be tniced in her sougs 
[Madge Wildfire's] sonietbing appropriate, tbough perhaps 
only obliquely or collaterally, to her present situation." Prof. 
Beers remarks that this song " is a fine example of the ballad 
manner of storytelling by implication." {History of Eng. 
Romanticism, 277.) 

BORDER BALLAD. 
375.— 11. Hirsel = a llock of sheep or a herd of cattle. 

COUNTY GUY. 

376. Sung by the " maid of the little turret, of the vail, 
and of the lute " in the fifth chapter of Quentin Durward. 
Scott says that the air was exactly such * as we are accus- 
tomed to suppose flowed from the lips of high-born dames of 
chivalry, when knights and troubadours listened and lan- 
guished.'' 

CAMPBELL. 

376. Thomas Campbell was born in Glasgow in 1777. 
As a 3'outh of twenty he was known to the liteiary circle of 
Edinburgh, — Walter Scott, Francis Jeffrey, Lord Brougham, 
and others,— but his career is chiefly associated with Loudon, 
where he settled in 1803. He died at Boulogne in 1844, and 
was buried in Westminster Abbey. Campbell's first pub- 
lisbed poem, Ihe Pleasures of Hope (1799), won immediate and 
general admiration. By this single effort he made a high 
place for himself among the poets of his time ; and it may be 
said of him, almost more truly tbnn of Byron, that he "awoke 
to find himself famous." Tlie poem bas genuine merits, but it 
belongs to a school of poetry now out of favor, and it has lost 
popularity in common with Akenside's Pleasures of the Imag- 
ination, Rogers's Pleasures of Memory, and other poems of the 
same character. Campbell wrote several other long poems, 
but his place in our literature now rests admittedly on his 
mavtiiil lyrics. Mr. Saiutsbury has recently pronounced his 
" three splendid war-songs [Hohenlinden, Te Mariners of Eng- 
land, and The Battle of the Baltic] the equals, if not the supe- 
riors, of anything of the kind in English, and therefore in any 
language," and has declared that they "set him in a position 
from which he is never likely to be ousted." Campbell, he 



694 THOMSON TO TENNYSOK 

concludes, stands " the best singer of war in a race and lan- 
guage which are those of the best singers and not the worst 
lighters in the history of the world,— in the race of Nelson and 
the language of Shakespeare. Not easily shall a man win 
higher praise than this." {Hist. 19th Centy. Lit., p. 94.) 

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND: A NAVAL ODE. 

Tliis ode was written in 1800, when England, arrayed 
singly against France and the greater part of Europe, had 
greatly strengthened her position by her fleet. Her navy was 
supreme ; and on the maintenance of that supremacy at this 
critical time England's safety depended. Within the last 
five years England had won important victories over the 
French and Spanish, most of which were achieved by Nelson's 
genius and daring, even when he was not the chief in com- 
mand. (For Nelson, see also n, to The Battle of the Baltic, 
post.) England's greatness has continued to depend upon 
her navy — a fact which has been recognized by Tennyson in 
The Fleet, a poem similar in spirit to this of Campbell's. Still 
more recent is Kipling's tribute to English naval power in his 

377.— 15. Blake. Robert Blake (1599-1657) was one of 
England's greatest admirals. He is particularly noted for his 
victories over the Dutch, whose strength on the sea in his 
time threatened England's power. Blake was sent out against 
the famous Van Tromp in 1652, and in an engagement May 
19th forced the latter to retreat. He was also successful in 
routing two more of their great commanders — De Ruyter and 
De Witte. Blake's last and most brilliant victory was won 
over a Spanish fleet ofl: Santa Cruz in 1657. 

HOHENLINDEN. 

378. During a tour on the Continent, 1800-1, Campbell 
was near Hohenliuden at I he time of the battle fought there 
between the victorious Fiench under Moreau (one of Napo- 
leon's generals) and the allied Bavarians and Austrians under 
Archduke John. Campbell visited the scene of the battle 
and wrote his famous poem in 1802. 

THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 

379. This poem was written in 1809. The Battle of the 
Baltic (or of Copenhaiieu, as it is sometimes called) was fought 
on April 2, 1801. At this time Russia, Sweden, and Denmark, 
instigated by France, had formed a confederacy against Eng- 



MOORE 695 



laud. It was to break up this alliance tliat Eugland fitted out 
au expedition for tbe Baltic, making Sir Hyde Parker com- 
mauder-in-chief. Nelson was, however, put second in com- 
mand and selected to lead the van, and Campbell is right in 
naming him as tlie hero of the victory. Parker, who was un- 
able to reach Nelson at the time of the fiercest action, think- 
ing him too hard pressed, gave a signal for recall, but Nelson 
refused to see the signal and, bravely encouraging his men to 
fight on, gained the battle in spite of heavy loss. (See 
Southey's Life of Nelson, Ch. VII.) 

381.— 63. Elsinore, which is about twenty miles from 
Copenhagen, was considered next to the capital the most 
flourisLing of Danish towns. It is situated at the narrowest 
part of the Sound, and, being well fortified, commands the 
entrance to it. On the promontory adjoining Elsinore stood 
Cronanburgh Castle, a famous palace defended by a fortress 
and formidable batteries. This castle has an especial interest 
for the student, as it was here that the scene of Hamlet was 
laid. — 66. With the gallant good Riou. Southey says, in his 
Life of Nelson : " There was not in our whole navy a man who 
had a higher and more chivalrous sense of duty than Riou." 
Nelson put him in a position of great trust, giving him com- 
mand over several ships. He was killed, fighting on board 
the Amazon. 

MOORE. 

383. Thomas Moore was born at Dublin in 1779, and 
died at Sloperton, England, in 1852, after a life of great pojv 
ularity. After graduating from Trinity College he went to 
London in 1799. A translation of Anacreon, dedicated to the 
Prince of Wales, first brought him into notice, and he steadily 
rose in popular favor. In 1817 he wrote his long Eastern 
poem Lalla Mookh, which met with instant success. His Lrish 
Melodies, which appeared in parts (1807-34), is a collection of 
songs, many of which hold an enduring place in our literature. 
Although a great part of his work is but little read to-day, his 
contemporaries held him in high esteem. Shelley says that 
he is proud to acknowledge his inferiority to him, and Byron 
was a close friend and admirer. Moore's Life of Byron is still 
accepted as one of the most trustworthy records of that poet. 

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS. 

384. Tara's Halls. The palace of the ancient kings of 
Ireland, which is said to have stood on the Hill of Tara in 
County Meath, Ireland. 



THOMSOK TO TENNYSON 



BYRON. 

385. George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824), altbough 
distinctively uot the greatest, was the most promiueut and 
widely iufluential English poet of his time. His first work. 
Hours of Idleness, a weak and juvenile production, fippeared 
in 1807, but his tremendous vogue dates from the publication 
of the first two cantos of Ghilde Harold in 1812. From this 
time Byron kept the centre of the stage. He transferred Scott's 
narrative manner to other subjects and scenes, and although 
he differed from his master in essential particulars, he is prop- 
erly regarded as Scott's successor in the history of English 
Romanticism. Scott himself made way for Byron, declaring 
good-naturedly that he had been beaten out of the field of 
poetry by the rising favorite. In 1816 Bjn-on left England for the 
Continent, fleeing from domestic troubles and the tumult of 
rumor, scandal, curiosity, and condemnation which his affairs 
had excited. He joined the Shelleys in Switzerland, and later 
established himself in Italy. The third and fourth cantos of 
Ghilde Harold (1816-18) mirror much of his life at this time ; 
they show us the Swiss Lakes, Venice, and Rome, but we see 
them always through the medium of Byron's personality. 
The brief remainder of his life was spent abroad. Poem 
followed poem in quick succession ; among the rest his un- 
finished satire of Don Juan, the touches of a genuine feeling 
discernible amidst the froth and effervescence of its wit and 
cynicism, and his remarkable dramatic poem of Gain. He 
died at thirty-seven, just after he had thrown his energies into 
the cause of Greek independence. The large space that 
Byron filled in his own age, his influence on those of his own 
generation and on their Immediate successors, is be3'^ond ques- 
tion. He was the poet of historic Europe ; the poet of society 
in revolt against authority ; the poet of a much-admired 
melancholy, which, however reckless and defiant, did not 
forget to be interesting and picturesque When Byron lived 
there were probably more great poets in England than at 
any lime since the days of Elizabeth. Yet though Scott, 
Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, Moore, Campbell, Shelley, 
and Keats were among his competitors, the popular verdict of 
his day gave Byron the first place. This verdict posterity has 
not confirmed. There was something meteoric in Byron's 
amazing force, rush, and brilliancy, in the way he burst into 
the poetic firmament and took possession. But if the stars 
pale in the path of a meteor, it passes, and they remain. 
Byron has not passed, but his light has waned, while that of 



BYRON' 69^ 



Scott, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats, and Shelley shines with 
a steady or increasing radiance. (See Int. Eiig. Lit. 359. j 

STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 

These verses were prompted by the news of the death of the 
Duke of Dorset, a former schoolfellow of Byron's, Asa boy 
Byron was (in his own words) " passionately attached " to his 
friend. At one time Byron says this event "'would have 
broken my heart.' It was the recollection of what he " once 
felt, and ought to have felt now, but could not," that found 
expression in this poem. In another place Byron speaks of 
these verses as " the truest, though the most melancholy, I ever 
wrote." {Letters, Mch. 1816.) The mood which inspired the 
poem is thus found similar to that which went to the making 
of Gray's Eton College ode. (See L. Stephen's remarks on this 
mood in this and other poems, in Hours in a Library, 3d 
Series, 194 et seq.) 

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. 

386. "These stanzas were written bj^ Lord Byron on 
returning from a ballroom where he had seen Mis. (now 
Lady) Wilmot Hortou, the wife of his relation, the present 
Governor of Ceylon. On this occasion Mrs. Wilmot Horton 
had appeared in mourning with numerous spangles on her 
dress." (Moore's Ed. of Byron's Poems.) 

SONNET ON CHILLON. 

387. This sonnet, together with The Prisoner of CMlloii, 
to which it is an introduction, was written at a " small inn " 
in the village of Onchy. near Lausanne, in June, 1816. The 
sonnet expresses Byron's devotion to liberty, which — while it 
ma}"- have been confused with a mere impatience of restraint, 
and a general attitude of rebellion— has nevertheless been 
called his "one pure passion." Bonnivard is the "prisoner 
of Chillon," the chief figure in Byron's poem. He was a man 
of republican views and of high character. He was impris- 
oned in the castle of Chillon about 1530, and remained there 
for six years. 

CHILDE HAROLD. 

^ 388. Childe Harold records the meditations and impres- 
sions of a man of romantic, susceptible, and melancholy na- 
ture, brought face to face with the picturesquene.ss. beauty, 
passing life, and venerable associations of Europe. The poem 



698 THOMSOK TO TENNYSON 

is without plot. Childe Htirold, satiated with the pleasures 
of a dissolute youth, flies self-exiled from his native land to 
visit "scorching climes beyoud the sea." Harold's travels 
(his "pilgrimage" iu romantic language) afford sufficient ex- 
cuse for a series of brilliant descriptions of scenes and places 
through which he is supposed to pass. Always as a majestic 
background to this Europe of the present, stands the Europe 
of the past. The poem is thus descriptive or meditative rather 
th:iu narrative ; the descriptions are the result of Byron's own 
travels the meditations probably represent substantially what 
Byron thought and felt under the surroundings he describes, — 
with due allowance for such additions and omissions as may 
have been necessary for the poetic effect. 

The first canto takes us into Portugal and Spain ; the sec- 
ond, into Albania and Greece ; the third, into Belgium and 
Switzerland ; the fourth, into Italy. 

The title and the earlier portions of the poem show that 
Byron began it with the intention of making it distinctly 
" Romantic" and Mediseval in character. Harold is called 
Childe (the heir, that is, of a noble house), a title made familiar 
by old ballads like Childe Waters and Childe Roland; the 
poem itself is called a "Romaunt"; it is written iu the Spen- 
serian stanza, the verse of the greatest of English romantic 
poems ; and it is not free from archaic words and phrases 
{uncouth, wight, sooth, whilom, and the like) which were a 
sign-manual of the revival of romance. While, by intention 
at least, it thus belongs to the Romantic school, these slight 
and somewhat forced attempts at Mediae valism were soon 
abandoned and the poem is, on the whole, distinctly modern. 

Canto HI. — 19. In my youth's summer, etc. The first two 
cantos of Childe Harold had appeared in 1812, or about four 
years previously. — 'Z'i-^l. In that Tale, etc. This passage in 
its "nice derangement" of metaphors is a good example of 
Byron's carelessness and confusion of style. 

389.— 100-136. But soon he knew himself, etc. How far 
the public were correct iu assuming that Byron's melancholy 
heroes were really the poet himself thinly disguised, is a ques- 
tion which has been much discussed. Whatever view we may 
take, there can be little doubt that these stanzas express a 
mood eminently characteristic of Byron's poetry and, we may 
reasonably conclude, highly characteristic of Byron himself. 
For, on the whole, Byron's poetry (with due allowance for cer- 
tain exaggerations and omissions) is self- revealing rather than 
objective. 

390. — 131. Then came his fit again. Adapted from Mac. 
in. 4. 21 : "Then comes my fit again : I had else been per- 
fect," etc. — 159. Pride of place. A term in falconry, applied 



BYROK 699 



to certain hawks -which soar to a place high in the air and 
from there swoop down upon their prey. (See Mac. II. 4. 12.) 

391.— 181-9. This stanza refers to the ball given by the 
Duchess of Richmond, at Brussels, on the night before the 
battle of Waterloo. The boom of cannon rang through the 
city, and the festivities were broken up by a rush to arms. 
(For account of this ball see Lever's Charles O'Malley, Ch. LI.) 
— 200. Brunswick's fated chieftain. Duke Frederick William 
of Brunswick, the head of the black Brunswickers (so called 
from their uniforms, in mourning for their losses at Auerstadt), 
who lost his life fighting at Quatre Bras. He was the son of 
Karl William Ferdinand of Brunswick, who died of a wound 
received at the battle of Jena. 

392-3. — 226-234. "Cameron's gathering, "i.e., the "piJroc/i" 
(or air played on the lagpipes) lo marshal the clan of Cameron. 
At the battle of Wateiloo the 92d or Gordon Highlanders 
were commanded by Colonel Cameron, a descendant of the 
famous Highland Camerons of Lochiel. Two of his best, 
known ancestors, Sir Evan Cameron, and his son Donald (1. 
9), called "the gentle Lochiel," fought against England, the 
first against William HI., the second in the Jacobite Rebel- 
lion of '45 ; hence Byron speaks of the Saxon foes of Albyn 
(or Scotland) as having dreaded the Cameron's pibroch. 
Donald is the Lochiel of Campbell's familiar poem. Scott 
thus refers to Colonel Cameron in his poem The Field oj 
Waterloo : 

" Saw'st gallant Miller's failing eye 
Still bent where Albion's banners fly, 
And Cameron, in the shock of steel. 
Die lilie the offspring of Lochiel." (XXI. 12.) 

235. Ardennes. "The wood of Soignies is supposed to be 
a remnant of the ' forest of Ardennes,' famous in Boiardo's 
Orlando, and immortal in Shakespeare's ' As You Like It.' 
It is also celebrated in Tacitus as being the spot of successful 
defence by the Germans against the Roman encroachments. 
I have ventured to adopt the name connected with nobler 
associations than those of mere slaughter." (Byron.)— 757. 
Clear placid Leman!, etc. Byron and Shelley were in Switzer- 
land together during the summer of 1816 The stanzas here 
given, marked by an unwonted tranquillity and elevation, 
record some of Byron's impressions of this time. It was under 
these influences that Shelley wrote the Hymn to Mont Blanc. 

395. — 808. Cytherea. A name for Venus, from her fabled 
rising from the ocean near the island of Cythera, off the 
southern peninsula of Greece. 

396.— 820. The sky is changed, etc. Byron tells us that he 



700 THOMSON TO TENKYSOK 



actually witnessed the storm here described, at midnight 13th 
of June, 1816. " I have seen," he says, "among the Acroce- 
raunian mountains of Chiniiiri several more terrible, but none 
more beautiful." — 838. Now where the swift Rhone, etc. See, 
for a far more beautiful use of the same illustration, the 
famous passage in Coleridge's Christabel (conclusion to Pt. I) 
beginning, "Alas, they had been friends in youth." Curi- 
ously enough, tliese parallel passages appeared in the same 
year (1816), but as the tirst part of Ghrisiahel had been written 
as early as 1797, Coleridge's priority is sufficiently obvious. 
Moreover, Byron met Coleridge at Rogers' in 1811, and heard 
Ghrisiahel. Byron appears to have been impressed, for he 
made use of it in an abandoned opening to his JSiege of CorintJi, 
and in 1815 advised its publication. 

398. Canto IV. — 707. The Scipio's tomb, one of the most 
ancient and interesting of the Roman tombs, was discovered 
in 1780. The entrance to it was by a cross-road leading from 
the Appiaa Way to the Via Latiiia. The sarcophagus, which 
was removed to the Vatican, bore the name L. Scipio Barba- 
tus. "The vault itself has been emptied of the slabs and in- 
scriptions, and the copies fixed in the spot where they were 
found may be thought ill to supply the place of the originals." 
(See Hohhow&Q, Hist. Illustrations of Fourth Canto of Ghilde 
Harold ) 

399.-728. Eureka = I have found it. (Gr. evftrjKa = 
I have found ) The familiar exclamation of Archimedes when 
he suddenly hit upon a method by which lie could find the 
amount of gold in Hiero's crown.— 734. TuUy = Cicero. — 
1603-1629. These lines suggest the following passage from 
Lucretius : 

" So when wild tempests over ocean sweep 
Leaders, and legions, and the pomp of war; 
Their fleets a plaything in the hands of storms. 
How come the pi-ond commanders then with prayers 
And votive gifts, imploring peace from gods ! 
In vain: since not the less for praj'ers they oft 
In whirlwinds seized are borne to shades of death,"" etc. 

{De Rerum Natnrce, Bk. V. 1221, Good's trans.) 

The same spirit appears in some of the poems of Leopardi, 
For an interesting analysis of the conclusion of Ghilde Harold. 
in which Byron's whole position is severely criticised, see 
"Byron's Address to the Ocean" {Blackwood's Magazine, 
vol. Ixiv. 499.) 

DON JUAN. 

403. Don Juan represents the somewhat ostentatious flip- 
pancy, the vain regrets, the weary disillusion of Byron's later 



BYRON 701 

years. Here, more than in any other of his poems. Byron is 
seen in revolt; riiiling indeed agaiust the shams and convtn- 
tious of Vanity Fair, but involving in his wholesale onslaught 
much that is the very basis of the social order. Don Juan is 
the longest of Byron's poems. It appeared, a few cantos at a 
time, between 1819 and 1824. Its ease, power, and rapid move- 
ment, its strange medley of heterogeneous elements, cannot 
really be appreciated through selections, though the passages 
given in the text have been chosen with the idea of illustrat- 
ing (as far as possible within brief limits) the mixed chaiacler 
and quick transitions of the poem. 

Canto III.— 721. Milton's, etc. See "Milton" in Johnson's 
Lives of the Poets. — 731. Titus' youth and Caesar's earliest acts. 
Titus was in his youth notoriously profligate, and Caesar 
(Julius) was also reported corrupt iu his private life. — 733. 
Cromwell's pranks. See note to Gray's Elegy, 1. 59. 

404.— 738. Pantisocracy = the equal rule of all. Southey 
and Coleridge, when young men, planned to found a Utopian 
community on the banks of the Susquehanna. It was tp be 
governed on improved methods, and they called it a Pantisoc- 
racy. (See Inf. Eng. Lit. 325.)— 739. Wordsworth unexcised, 
unhired, etc. As a young man Wordsworth was an ardent 
advocate of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity and had the 
enthusiasm of a high-minded and generous youth who longed 
to reform the world. In later life this was tempered and he 
became more conservative, which laid him open to criticism, 
for he accepted the post, under government, of distributor of 
stamps for Westmorland and part of Cumberhind. Browning 
in an early poem. The Lost Leader, refers to Wordsworth when 
he says : 

" Just for a handful of silver he left us, 
Just for a riband to stick in his coat." 

But Browning's later judgment rather repents of it, and he 
says in a letter referring to the "silver and bits of riband " : 
"These never influenced the change of politics in the great 
poet, whose defection, nevertheless, accompanied as it was by 
a regular face-about of his special party, was to my juvenile 
apprehension, and even mature consideration, an event to 
deplore." — 740. Pedlar poems. An allusion to an early poem of 
Wordsworth's on Peter Bell, a pedlar, which provoked much 
ridicule. — 744. Espoused two partners. Southey and Coleridge 
married sisters, the Misses Fricker of Bath.— 746. Botany Bay. 
Thewell-kuown penal colony in New South Wales — 756. Joanna 
Southcote's Shiloh. Joanna Southcote was a curious specimen 
of an exalted visionary. She was born in Devonshire about 
1750. She believed that she had the gift of prophecy, and she 



702 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 

published predictions both in prose and verse in which many 
intelligent persons believed. She announced that she would 
give birth on October 19, 1814, to a second Shiloh, or Prince of 
Peace, and extensive preparations were made for his reception, 
but instead she fell into a trance, and died in the same year, 
supposedly from dropsy. 

405.— 807. Ave Maria = Hail Mary, from the opening of 
the Roman Catholic prayer to the Virgin. Church-bells are 
rung at dawn and sunset to remind the devout to say this 
prayer. — 835. Ravenna's immemorial wood. The celebrated 
pine forest called La Piiieta, the most venerable forest in 
Italy. — 837. Caesarean fortress stood. Ravenna was considered 
one of the most impregnable towns in Italy, and became in 
the later days of the empre the chief residence of the Roman 
emperors. Here Odoacer entrenched himself when Theodoric 
the Ostrogoth invaded Italy, and was only overcome after a 
three years' siege, 489-492.-838. Ever-green forest, etc. The 
ancient fortst of La Pinela (The Pine) stretches along the 
shores of the Adriatic for tweniy-five miles; Ravenna is on its 
inland border. There is a tradition that Dante loved to medi- 
tate here {Parg. XXXVIII. 20). Boccaccio chose this forestfor 
the scene of a ghastly story, Nostalgia degli Onesti, which is 
the eighth novel in his Decameron. In this s'ory the mounted 
spectre of a knight pursues with dogs the gho.stly form of a 
woman who in life repelled his love with scorn. Dryden 
availed himself of the legend in his poem of TJieodore and 
Honoria. 

406.— 857. Soft hour !, etc. See n. on Gray's Elegy, 1. 

SHELLEY. 

406. Percy Bysshe Shelley was born near Horsham, 
Surrey, in 1792. He was by nature a radical and an enthusi- 
ast : his father, Timothy (afterwards Sir Timothy) Shelley, was 
an embodiment of the conservative and commonplace ele- 
ments of English society. This and other unfortunate circum- 
stances probably aggravated Shelley's inherent tendency to 
wage indiscriminate war against the existing order of things, 
and his life was one of struggle and of protest. Queen Mah 
(1813) was followed in 1816 by the chara< teristic i^oem of 
Alastor, which showed a marked advance in power. A large 
amount of work was crowded into the six years which lay 
between Alastor and Shelley's tragic death in 1822. His lyri- 
cal drama, Prometheus Unbound, perhaps the finest of his long 
poems, appeared in 1820, and many of his best lyrics were 
composed during the latter half of his brief poetic career. 



SHELLEY 703 



LYRICS. 



Two essential elements in Shelley's poetry are its remoteness 
from the world of fact and its lyrical quality. Even in most 
of bis longer poems it is the atmosphere peculiar to bis filmy 
and prismatic world, and the spring of the lyrical movement, 
which especially attract us. Tbat atmosphere, that lyrical 
movement, impetuous and rapid, gliding or fluent, is at least 
equally present in his shorter lyrics. And, in addition, we 
have in these shorter poems a proportion and a perfection, a 
power which comes from concentiatiou, to which a longer 
work can hardly attain. Sbelley is consequently represented 
far more adequately by his short lyrical pieces than are those 
poets who, beside their lyrical gifts, have a dramatic or nar- 
rative power which Sbelley did not, to any degree, possess. In 
such wonderful creations as the Ode to the West Wirtd, Night, 
The Skylark, and The Cloud, we feel the throb of those emotions 
which were a part of the poet and an aiiimating principle in 
his more extended work. A fellowship with the free, ele- 
mental forces of nature, and a half-primitive feeling for them 
as personal living things ; a restless desire for the impossible — 
" the desire of the moth for the star "; a recurrent tone of per- 
sonal sadness and despondency, as of one hurt on the thorns of 
life ; a note of hopefulness for the future of the world, and a 
desire to share in bringing in that happier future for which he 
longs, — these moods and emotions we have no difficulty in 
recognizing as controlling elements in Shelley's lyrical work. 

ADONAIS. 

416. Adonais, a poem which challenges comparison with 
the greatest elegies of the world, was written in 1821— prob- 
ably in the latter part of May. It is a lament for John Keats, 
who had died at Rome on the twenty-third of the preceding 
February. Shelley had a sincere and increasing, although not 
an unreserved, admiration for Keats's genius ; and while he 
was not blind to the youthful shortcomings of Endymion, he 
regarded Hyperion as ' ' second to nothing that was ever pro- 
duced by a writer of the same years." (Shelley's Preface to 
Adonais.) A born champion of those whom he considered 
victims of cruelty or persecution, Sbelley was piiofoundly 
moved by the opinion (since discredited, but then generally 
entertained) that Keats' untimely death was the result of a 
brutal criticism of Endymion which had appeared in the 
Quarterly Review. Regret that a poet "capable of the greatest 
things " should have been thus early " hooted from the stage of 
life," and a passionate indignation against those who had (as he 



704 THOMSON^ TO TENNYSON 



thought) perpetrated such a wrong, — these two feelings, 
rather than any keen sense of a personal loss, are the motive 
impulses back of the poem. In fact while the feeling between 
the two poets was kindly, especially on Shelley's side, they 
were hardly more than acquaintances, and the bond between 
them was not personal affection, but a common devotion to 
their art. Accordingly in Adonais, even more than in Ly- 
cidas, the note of individual grief is conspicuously absent. 
The mourners for Adonais are insubstantial personifications. 
Poetry, Dreams, Persuasions, Splendors, Glooms, and Olimmer- 
ing Incarnations, and the cry of human suffeiing seems far off. 
The very occasion of their grief, the dead poet himself, 
remains almost as vague and impersonal as the majestic but 
shadowy abstractions which surround him. To say this is not 
to disparage the poem, but to suggest its indescribably elusive 
and phantasmal beauty ; it is simply to indicate that the 
lament is for Keats the poet, not for Keats the man, and that 
its true theme is the loss that Poetry, not Shelley himself, has 
sustained. From this the poem rises toward the close into 
the lofty and difficult region of philosophical speculation on 
life, death, and the hereafter. In spite of Shelley's own fear 
tliat the poem was "too metaphysical." some of the noblest 
stanzas occur in this latter and more purely speculative part. 
Shelley's general idea appears to be that there is back of the 
world of man and nature an Anima Mandi, the single Abso- 
lute Energy, the sustaining Power, the source of all beauty, 
goodness, and love. This Power reveals itself through life and 
nature, so far as the obscurity and imperfection of the media 
will permit. Man in this earthly life is really dead ; being 
partially separated from this Power, when he dies (at least if he 
have an affiliation with t'le Divine) that Power which produced 
him " withdraws his being " into its own. (Cf. Asia in Shel- 
ley's Prometheus Unbound, the Lady of the Garden in 27ie 
Sensitive Plant, etc.) 

Adonais is classical in form and is obviously modelled on 
two Greek elegies, thai of Bion on Adonis, and of Moschus on 
Bion ; it also suggests comparison with Lycidas. It should 
be read in conjunction with these poems. (See Lang's The- 
ocritus, Bion, and Moschus, rendered into English Prose.) Ado- 
nais was first published at Pisa in small quarto in June, 1821 ; 
it has been reprinted in fac-simile by the Shelley Society. 

The reasons which led Shelley to choose this name Adonais 
have not been satisfactorily explained. The name is ap- 
parently not Greek, but its close resemblance to Adonis, the 
youth beloved by Aphrodite and slain by the boar, cannot 
fail to impress us. It has not escaped the critics that the un- 
timely death of Adonis is the subject of that elegy of Bion's 



SHELLEY ^^05 



on which Shelley's is modelled, nnd Rossetti suggests that 
Shelley wished in this way to indirectly suggest his in debt- 
edness to his Greek master. Dr. Furiiivall suggests that 
Adonais is " Shelley's variant of Adonias, the women's yearl}'- 
mourning for Adonis." The fact that this festival symbolized 
the dying and reviving of nature (see stanza xviii, etc., and 
cf. Theocritus, Idyll XV) gives a faint probability to this 
conjecture. Perhaps Shelley may have had Keats' association 
with the nightingale in mind (see stanza xvii and Keats' 
Ode to a Nightingale) and given to the dead singer of the bird 
"not born for death" a name suggested by the Greek 
drjdovio'i = of a nightingale. The necessities of the verse 
may account for the modification. 

1. I weep for Adonais, etc. Cf. opening of Bion's Elegy for 
Adonis. — 5. Obscure compeers. The other hours are obscuie 
because no one of them stands out from the rest as dis- 
tinguished by the death of Adonais.— 12. Urania, literally 
the heavenly one {ovfiavia), was the muse of Astronomy, but 
this seems to be no sulficient reason for Shelley's making her 
the ' ' mighty mother " of the dead poet. Hales reminds us that 
Milton, using the word in its literal sense, makes Urania the 
goddess of " the loftiest poetry," and bids her " descend from 
Heaven.'' (See Par. Lost, VII. 11. 1-15, and also Tennyson's 
In Mem. XXXVIl) liossetti thinks \h?ii Aphrodite Urania, 
and not the Muse, is intended. He says; " She is the daughter 
of Heaven {Uranus) and Light; her influence is heavenly; she 
is heavenly or spiritual love, as distinct from earthly or carnal 
love. . . . What Aphrodite Cypris does in i\\e Adonis [of Bion]. 
that Urania does in the Adonais." In either case we may 
conclude that by Urania Shelley meant that higher or 
heavenly Power back of the world, and the parent of all that 
is most elevated and beautiful. (Cf. stanzas xliii and liv, 
and tlie Lady of the Garden in The Sensitive Plant.) — 18. 
Bulk of death. The impression produced by "bulk" here can 
be felt better than closely analyzed. " Bulk " here carries 
with it the idea of weight, as an inert, lifeless mass. 

417.— 35. Sprite ="spirit.— 86. The third, etc. Rossetti 
thinks that Shelley was thinking here of epic poets only, and 
that the two other poets besides Milton here placed among 
the "sons of Light" are Homer and Dante. He quotes a 
passage from Shelley's Defence of Poetry in which Homer is 
spoken of as the first, Dante as the second, and Milton as the 
third epic poet of the world. — 39. Happier they, etc. This 
passage, usually spoken of as " obscure,'" may possibly be thus 
explained : The minor poets celebrated perhaps for some slight 
lyrics, although they aspired less high than the great epic 
masters just alluded to, are in one respect more fortunate. 



706 THOMSON TO TENNYSON" 

Lofty aspirations often lead to failure and unhappiuess, so far 
as this world goes: the happiness of Milton and Daute was in 
a posthumous fame which they could not "know " except by 
anticipation, while a lesser poet, more in accord with the 
world, could "know" the happiness of life directly. More- 
over, not all those who aspire highl}^ win even posthumous 
houor : they may give up this world and gt-t nothing. Still a 
third class are those who are now " tre:iding the thorny road " 
which leads to fame. — 47. Nursling of thy widowhood . Ros- 
setti takes this to mean that Keals " was born out of time — 
born in an unpoetjcal and uuappreciative age." Is it not 
rather intended to suggest the intense devotion of Urania, who 
mourned for him as a mother for tLie child who was " the 
nursling of her widowhood " ? 

418.— 00. That high Capital. Rome, where Keats died in 
1821. He was buried in the Protestant cemetery there, thus 
having literally in that Eternal City "a grave among the 
eternal. '—09. The eternal Hunger. . Probably "Invisible Cor- 
ruption," just pictured as "at the door" waiting " to trace" 
(i.e., point out, indicate) his (Keats') extreme (or last) journey 
to the tomb, which is her dim dwelling. By " the eternal 
Hunger " Shelley doubtless means more than the forces which 
bring the body to decay; he probably means the mysterious and 
everlasting Antagonist of the durability of things. — 75. "Who 
were his flocks. While Shelley has followed accepted models 
in making his elegy pastoral in character, the pastoral element 
is barely suggested. As in stanza xxx the poets who as- 
semble to mourn for Keats are spoken of as " mountain 
shepherds," so here Keats is represented as the Shepherd of 
his flock of thoughts. " He being dead," says Rosselti, " they 
cannot assume new forms of beauty in any future poems, and 
cannot be thus diffused from mind to mind, but they remain 
mourning round their deceased herdsman, or master." 

420. — 107. Clips = encircles, or encompasses. (Cf. "Yon 
fair sea that c^ijos thy shores." (Tennyson.) — 109. And others 
came, etc. The Beings here introduced, the emotions which 
the dead poet had loved and to which he had given a more 
definite form by moulding them into thought (xiv), are sur- 
rounded with a vague and mysterious suggestiveness that 
makes this one of the most distinctively beautiful passages in 
the poem. Cf. the much more concrete and definite personi- 
fications in Spenser or Collins, where, although the outline is 
.sharper, there is a loss in delicacy and suggestiveness. 

422.— 149. Her mighty youth The allusion to the eagle 
nourishing his mighty youth would seem to be a reminder of 
the familiar passage in MiUon's Areopagitic a: "Methinks I 
see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her 



SHELLEY 707 

undazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam," etc. — 151, 152. The 
curse of Cain light on his head, etc., i.e. . on the head of the critic 
whose review of Endymion in the Quarterly was erroneously 
supposed by Shelley to have caused Keats' death. By "the 
curse of Cain " is probably meant merely the penalty or retri- 
bution that should fall on a murderer (cf. Rossetti's Adonais), 
not the specific curse of Genesis iv. 11, 13.— 154. Winter is 
come and gone, etc. Cf. the passage in the Elegy of Moschus 
beginning " Ah me ! when the mallows wither in the garden " ; 
Tennyson's In Mem. CXV. ; and Arnold's Thyrsis, stanza 

VIII. 

423. — 177. Nought we know dies, etc. If matter is im- 
perishable, never absolutely destroyed, but only changed from 
one form to another, if even the body, the sheath, or scabbard 
of the soul does not perish, but, touched by the recreative 
principle in things, exhales itself in flowers, shall the soul die 
like a sword (the higher thing) consumed before its sheath, 
meant but to screen and protect it ? Shelley does not really 
answer this question here, but implies that the soul goes out 
like an extinguished spark. — 187. As long as skies are blue. 
Cf. Macb. Act V. 5. 519. 

420. — 238. Unpastured dragon = the savage critic, raven- 
ing for prey. Unpastured = unftd, hungry (Lat. impas- 
tus). — 250. The Pythian of the age, i.e., Byron, who slew the 
wolves, ravens, and vultures cf the critical Reviews by his 
counter-attack in English Bards and Scotch Retuwcrs. He is 
here likened to Apollo Pythius, or Apollo the Python- slayer. — 
256. And the immortal stars, etc. Keats' genius, wliich has, 
like the sun, eclipsed the stars for a time, now takes its place 
among them in the heaven of poetry. 

427. — 262. After Urania, the lofty mother of Keats, has 
finished her lament, the "mountain shepherds," Keats' 
brother-poets, their "magic mantles" or "singing robes" 
rent, as a sign of mourning, assemble about his bier. First 
the poet of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, who, generally identi- 
fied with the "Pilgrim's" hero, is here spoken of as " the 
Pilgrim of Eternity," i.e., the Pilgrim who is placed by the 
greatness of his work above the mutations of time and change. 
(In Childe Harold, Canto lY. clxxv, Byron speaks of "hav- 
ing won my pilgrim shrine "; see also his Letter to Hobhouse 
introductory to this canto.) Next Thomas Moore, who is de- 
scribed as the "sweetest lyrist" of lerue, or Ireland. Ros- 
setti suggests that by the " saddest wrong" of Ireland Shelley 
may mean the fate of Emmet and the suppression of the In- 
surrection of 1803. He cites the songs "O breathe not his 
name," " When he who adores thee," and " She is far from 
the land."— 271. Came one frail form. In this and the follow- 



'08 THOMSON TO TENNYSON 



ing stanza Shelley describes himself. The passage is one of 
the most pathetic and remarkable self delineations in English 
poetry ; it suggests comparison with Cowper's reference to his 
sufferings in the passage "I was a stricken deer," etc. {The 
Task, Bk. III. 1. 108, p. 249, mpra). 

429. — 307. What, softer voice. The last mourner is Leigh 
Hunt, the early friend of Keats in London, and the head of 
the so-called " Cockney-school " of poetry with which Keats 
at first was connected. 

430. — 343. Peace, peace ! he is not dead. We here reach 
the second natural division of the elegy. The first half has 
been occupied with the expression of grief for Keats, and of 
indignation at the reviewers ; the second part is chiefly occi- 
pied with general reflections suggested by the fact of death. 
As the predominant note of the first part is mourning, that of 
the second is hope. This Jirraugement is not peculiar to 
Adonais, but is to be found in most of the great elegies. Cf. 
LycidaSy 1. 165 ; Thyrsis, fiom " 'Tisdone ; and see back'd by 
the sunset," etc.; and the similar transition in the latter part of 
In Mem. Contrast the basis of hope in these various poems. 
—344. The dream of life, etc. The idea that the state which 
we call life is really death occurs several times in Shelley. Cf. : 

" Death is the veil which those who live call life : 

They sleep and it is lifted." 

Prometheus Unbound, A. III. Sc. 3. 
" Lift not the painted veil which those who live 

Call life," etc.— Sonnet (1817). 

Also E. A. Poe's For Annie. 

432.-392. When lofty thought, etc. In proof of his asser- 
tion that Keats is not dead, the poet goes on to mention the 
ways in which his spirit still lives: in becoming a part of the 
life of nature ; in being absorbed into the life of that Power 
which moves back of tiie physical or material, sustaining it, 
compelling its denser mass to assume new forms, and reveal- 
ing its own beauty and love and goodness through matter, so 
far as it can torture the crude mass to express it and assume 
its likeness (see stanza liv). Shelley then passes to the 
immortality of earthly fame : great souls are like stars, which 
death ma}- blot for a time (cf. stanza v, "others more sub- 
lime"), but cannot extinguish; then, to the immortality en- 
joyed by those who live, after their death, by their influence 
on others. This view, more familiar since Shelley's time, is 
the one expressed in George Eliot's Choir Invidhle, q. v. — 397. 
The inheritors, etc. The thought of the preceding stanza is 
now illustrated by particular examples. Keats having been 
untimely cut off, he is received into the company of that group 



SHELLEY 709 

among the great dead whose promise of renowu liad, like his, 
been unfulfilled. Chattoitou was not eighteen when he died, 
Sidney but thirty-two, and Lucan about twenty- seven. Lucjin 
left his Pharsalia unfinished. He died because of his share in 
a conspiracy against Nero. Shelley probably speaks of him as 
"by his death approved " because he showed great courage at 
the last, and died repeating some lines from the Pharsalia on 
the death of a wounded soldier. 

433.— 415-423. Who mourns for Adonais? I suggest Ihe 
following paraphrase of this stanza, probably tbe most diffi- 
cult in the poem : Let him who, after all the sources of hope 
and consolation just advanced, still mourns for Adonnis. 
"come forth" out of his narrow view and learn to know 
aright his own state and that of Keats— or of those we call the 
living and those we think of as dead. Let him clasp the 
earth, hung pendant in the abyss of sj ace, and from it, as 
from a centre, project himself in thought through the infinite. 
Then let him shrink back into the petty limits of our day 
and night (the night which we are told (stanza xl) he has out- 
soared) into the cramping and sorrowful limits of the temporal 
world. Having once gained this eternal view, and seen the 
contrast, instead of mourning for Adonais he will rather have 
to keep his heart light lest "it " (i.e., his hearl) make him sink 
after hope, kindled by hope into a bright flame, has led or en- 
ticed him to the verge of the infinite.— 424. Or go to Rome. 
In interpreting all this latter portion of the poem we must 
keep hold of the poet's sequence of thought. 'Jhe consolation 
laid down in the preceding stanza (xi.vii) is based upon that 
amplified in stanzas xxxix, xliii ; so the pnsent stanza simi- 
larly corresponds to that in stanzas xliv, xlv. xlvi. If the 
contrast between the (ternal sphere (to which Keats belongs) 
and the temporal (of which you are a part) does not move 
you, go to Rome, where the poet is buried, and reflect that the 
city's glory comes, not from conquerors, but from the "kings 
of thought," and that Keats being one of these gives g'ory to 
his resting-place rather than himself borrows it from his sur- 
roundings. 

435.-455. Too Burely shalt thou find, etc. Here another 
source of comfort is suggested; the misery of life is contrasted 
with the "shelter" of the tomb. — 460. The One remains, etc. 
The contrast is between the permanence of the single. Absolute 
Existence, and the mutability of the many. The undivided 
while radiance of eternity — one light, but capable of being 
split up into all the colors of the spectrum— is but stained by 
the many-colored glass of life which, spread over us like a 
dome, shuts us out from the heaven. All earthly beauty being 
partial and transitory, one must die to really find the full and 



710 THOMSOK TO TENNYSON 

lasting beauty which is its source and into which it is re- 
absorbed. 



KEATS. 

440. John Keats was born in London in 1795 ; he died 
of consumption in Rome (where he had gone in the hope of 
prolonging his life) in 18iil. Seven years younger than Byron, 
three years younger than Shelley, Keats' little day of work 
was even briefer than that granted to either of his illustrious 
contemporaries. The last of this great triumvirate to come, 
he was the first to depart. Keats is said to have written his 
first poem in 1813, or early in 1814. when he was about eigh- 
teen years old; his earliest book of verse, a faulty but promis- 
ing production, appeared in 1817. Endymion, which made 
him a shining mark for the critics, followed in the next year, 
and a volume containing Lamia, Hyperion, The Eve of St. 
Agnes, and other poems, was published in 1820. It is on the 
poems of this last-named collection that Keats' title to be among 
the great poets after his death chiefly rests ; yet these poems 
were the work of about a year and a half. Yet short as was 
his life, astonishingly short as was the period during which 
his genius was fairly in flower, Keats not only produced some 
poems tliat have taken their place beside the most consummate 
examples of shorter English verse, he had in him so large a 
fund of original force tliat he did more than either Byrou or 
Shelley to guide and influence the poetry of the Victorian Age. 
An avowed worshipper of beauty, Keats found it in two great 
regions of esthetic deliglit— Greek mythology and Mediaeval 
liomance. These two worlds of beauty he luxuriates in with 
a fresh abandonment to sensation, depicting tliem at his best, 
with the supreme distinction of phrase. In either world, as 
the poet of tlie Grecian Urn and Hyperion, or as the poet of 
La Belle Dame sans Merci and The Eve of St. Agnes, we can- 
not but be sensible of the vital relation which Keuts holds to 
the poets and poetry of the succeeding time. On the spiritual, 
moral, or philosophic side, the poetry of Tennyson has nothing 
in common with that of Keats. But on the purely artistic 
side, on tlie side of form and technique, it has long been rec- 
ognized that Tennyson was Keats' deficendant and lawful heir. 
Keats colored and moulded Tennyson's style, as neither Words- 
worth, Coleridge, Byron, nor Shelley was able to do, and to 
influence Tennyson was to influence nearly all the poetry of 
Tennyson's time. (See Ld. Eng. Lit. p. 378.) 



KKATS 711 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 

This poem was included iu the collection of 1820, and con- 
sequently belongs to Keats' latest and best period. Rossetti 
places it above all the poems of Keats not purely lyrical, with 
the one exception of La Belle Dame sans Merci. Regarded 
simply as a narrative, the poem shows but little skill ; yet the 
incidents, although often rather loosely connected, are so 
chosen as to afford abundant opportunity for goi geous, highly- 
wrought descriptions and sharp, effective contjasts. Back of 
it all tliere is a sense of richness, warmth, and color ; over it 
all a languid atmosphere, heavy with sweet, dreamy odors. 
Keats found the suggestion for such story as there is, in the 
old superstitions and practices in regard to the Eve of St, 
Agnes, the night of January 20th. It was supposed that by 
observing certain ceremonies a maiden might see in her dreams 
the form of her future husband. Fasting, and lying on the back 
with the hands placed under the head, are among these cere- 
monies (stanza vi). See Brand's Popular Antiquities.—^. 
Beadsman. Literally a prayer (or praying) man (from M. E. 
hede — a prayer), parlicuhirly one who prays for another. 

441. — 37. Argent =: silver, but here silvery-bright, shining. 
Cf. Keats' use of it in Endymion, III. 185 : 

" Pardon nie, airy planet, that I prize 
One thought beyond thine argent luxuries 1 "" 

38. Tiara = a rich head-dress. Originally a head-covering of 
the Persiiin kings ; in later days worn by the Popes, sur- 
mounted by the cross and richly ornamented.— 39. Haunting 
faerily, etc. Cf. U Allegro, 11. 125-130. 

442. — 67. Timbrel = tambourine. 

443.— 70. Amort ( = French a la mart) dead, lifeless, un- 
interested. Cf. 2\im. of the Shrew, IV. 3. 36 : " Wliat, sweet- 
ing, all amort?" — 71. Lambs unshorn. An allusion to certain 
old customs in the Roman Catholic Church. See Translation 
of Naogeorgus, after Brand : 

" Then commes in place St. Agnes' Day, which here in Germauie 
Is not so much esteenide nor kept with such solemnitie : 
But in the Popish Court it staiides iu passing hie degree, 
As spring and head of wondrous gaine, and great commoditie. 
For in St. Agnes' Church upon this day while masse ihey sing, 
Two lambes as white as snowe the nonnes do yearely use to bring ; 
And when the Agnus ehaunted is upon the aulter hie 
(For in this thing there hidden is a solemne mysterie) 
They offer them. The servants of the pope when this is done 
Do put them into pasture good till shearing time be come. 
Then other wooll they mingle with th^se holy fleeces twain. 
Whereof, being ssonhe and drest, are made the pals of passing gaine." 



712 THOMSON TO TENNYSOK 

89. Foul. Apparently used here in the sense of "hostile" or 
"unfavorable," — 90. Beldame'=an aged crone (M. lEi. bel = 
grand, SiS gt'and-moiher, etc.) 

444.-117. St. Agnes wool. See note I. 71. 

445. — 133. Brook. Forinan notes the " strange misuse of 
bj'ook for the sake of rhyme." "Perhaps," he adds, "the 
sentiment of baulk was in Keats's mind, as that is clearly the 
meaning of the passage ; and b)-ook was probably written in a 
kind of absence of mind." 

446. — 155. Churchyard thing, meaning that she is near to 
the time when she shall be laid in the churchyard. One foot 
in the grave. 

447.— 171. Merlin paid his Demon. Forman thus explains 
this passage : Merlin was the child of a devil ; consequently his 
monstrous debt was his existence, which he owed to a Demon, 
and which he paid back when he died or passed away under 
the spells of Vivian. "As to the words 'never on such a 
night,' etc., it is presumable that they refer to the tempest 
whicli, according to tradition, passed over the woods of 
Broceliande the night after the magician was spell-bound." 
— 173. Gates, = delicacies, is really synonymous with dainties. 
188. — Amain. Tlie sense is, of course, violently or mightily 
pleased. The word is not quite correctly used, but Keats is 
apt to take liberties with his archaisms. See note on Lycidas, 
1. 111. 

448.— 212. Stains = colors. — 218. Gules. An heraldic 
term for red. 

449. — 241. Swart Paynims =: dark pagans. Leigh Hunt 
says: "Clasped like a missal in a land of pagans: that is to 
say, where Christian prayer books must not be seen, and are, 
therefore, doubly cherished for the danger." 

450. — 255. Half- anguished, i.e., tortured with the tumult 
of his emotions ; with a pleasure so intense that it becomes 
half pain. — 257. Morphian amulet !, a charm capable of pro- 
ducing sleep.— 264. From forth the closet, etc. Is it hyper- 
critical to suggest that this incident, while it affords an excel- 
lent opportunity for Keats' peculiar richness of description, is 
in itself inconsistent and absurd ? In fact, after these elabo- 
rate preparations almost the first idea of the lovers after 
Madeline realizes the situation, is to seek safety in flight, for, 
as we are told, "the morning is at hand." — 268. Argosy, a 
vessel carrying rich merchandise, supposed to be so called 
from the town Ragusa. a port on the east coast of the Adriatic 
noted for its commerce. 



KEATS 713 



ODES. 



455. Keats' Odes, as Mr. Oolvin remarks, are "quite free 
from the declamatory and rhetorical elements wbicli we are 
accustomed to associate" with this poetic form. (See the 
remarks on the Odes of Drydeu and Collins, supra.) But, 
remembering Wordsworth, his further assertion that "they 
constitute a class apart in English literature " seems some- 
what extreme. The year 1819 is memorable in Ktats' poetic 
development for his success in this species of composition, for 
in it Psyche, TJie Grecian Urn, Melancholy , The JSighiingale, 
Indok7ice, and To Autumn (in short, all his greatest odes) were 
composed. All these, with the exception of the Indolmce, 
appeared in the collection of 1820. In the Ode to a Nightingale 
tlie eternal spirit of gladness as typified or embodied in the 
bird's song, untrammelled by dealh and time, is contrasted with 
the sorrowful and transitory life of man. The Grecian Urn 
suggests the permanence and actual superiority of beauty, as 
realized in art, over life; of the ideal over the real. Sweet as 
are the " heard melodies," those " unheard " are sweeter still. 
Realization and disappointment go together. At the close, 
reverting to the thouglit of the Ode to a Nightingale, the short- 
ness of human life is contrasted with the permanence of this 
creation of art, which shall preach to other generations the 
doctrine (the first article of Keats' creed) that Truth is but 
another name for Beauty. The Ode to Autumn, although 
less known than either of the two just mentioned, has a 
simplicity, truth, directness, and subtle beauty which entitle 
it to a very high place. It is as purely descriptive as Collins' 
Ode to Evening, and it has a wholesomeness, a fine grapp of 
fact, and a precision of phrase which Keats but too seldom 
attains. 

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI. 

461. This is Keats' greatest triumph in Romantic poetry, 
and has aroused the enthusiasm of the best critics. " The 
title is taken from that of a poem by Alain Chart ier— the 
secretary and court poet of Charles VI. and Charles VIL of 
France — of which auEngli.sh tiauslation used to be attributed 
to Chaucer, and is included in the early editions of his works. 
This title had caught Keats' fancy, and in the Eve of St. 
Agnes he makes Lorenzo waken Madeline by playing" an 
ancient song of Provence, "called La Belle Dame Sans Merci." 
"The syllables continuing to haunt him, he wrote in the 
course of the spring or summer (1819) a poem of his own on 
the theme, which has no more to do with that of Charlier 



714 THOMSON TO TENNYSOK 



than Chartier has really to do with Provence." (Colvin's 
Keats, E. L. M., Series 163.) 

SONNETS. 

403. It is usual to place Keats with the greatest English 
sonnet-writers of recent times, — with Wordsworth, Mrs. 
Browning, and Rossetti. His relative place among these 
masters need not be discussed here ; it is enough to sjiy that 
while few would deny Wordsworth's supremacy as a son- 
uetteer among the poets of this group, few would deny that 
Keats has fairly won a place among the six best masters of the 
sonuet since Milton. 

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. 

Chapman's translation of Homer, like the Faerie Qaeene 
and the Elgin Marbles, was one 'of the early quickeuers of 
Keats' genius. His friend C. Cowden Chirke tells how he 
introduced Keats to the book in 1815. Chirke adds that on 
the morning after they had first looked into the book together, 
he found on his breakfast-table a letter enclosing Keats' 
sonnet. They had sat up late, but the sonnet had been pro- 
duced in the brief interval, (Recollections of Writers.) It is 
hardly necessary to add that Balboa and not Cortez discovered 
the Pacific, or to say that the slip does not appreciably affect 
the value of the poem. 

SONNET, JUNE 1816. 

464. Mr. Buxton Forman says: "In a transcript in the 
handwriting of George Keats this sonnet is subscribed as 
'Written in the Fields — June 1816.' ... He reminds us 
that the opening line is apparently an unconscious repro- 
duction of Par. Lost, IX. 445— 'As one who long in popu- 
lous city pent.' " The sonnet was published in the volume of 
1817. 



ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. 

C Cowden Clarke enlightens us as to the origin of this son- 
net. On one occasion when Leigh Hunt, Clarke, and Keats 
were together, the conversation turned upon the grasshopper, 
and Hunt proposed to Keats that each should write a sonnet 
on the subject then and there. Keats "won as to time," but 
it may be fairly questioned whether Hunt's sonnet (see p. 465) 
is not the better of the two. 



HU-NT— LANDOR 715 



LAST SONNET. 

465. This sonnet was written about the end of September 
or beginning of October 1820. Lord Houghton tells us that 
after Keats had embarked lor Italy he " landed once more in 
England on the Dorsetshire coast, after a weary fortnight 
spent in beating about the Channel." The day was beautiful, 
and it was under the reviving influence of the scene that this 
sonnet was composed. 



HUNT. 

James Henry Leigh Hunt, commonly known as Leigh 
Hunt, was born at Southgate in 1784, and died at Putney in 
1859, He went to Italy in 1821, by the invitation of Shelley, 
to help him and Byron in establishing a paper to be called 
The Liberal. Hunt's residence in Italy had a mai ked effect 
upon his style, which shows in consequence a greater warmth 
and richness of coloring. On his return to England about 
1825, he became the head of the so called " Cockney School " 
of poetry, and had many admirers and followers. His in- 
fluence on Keats, and especially on that poet's earlier work, is 
obvious, although the pupil soon surpassed his master. In- 
deed, Hunt, although a fluent writer, essayist, and poet, is 
more remarkable for his influence upon his contemporaries 
than for his own productions. 

TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET. 

See note to Keats' poem on the same subject, supra. 

LANDOR. 

466. Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864) was born at 
Ipsley Court, Warwick, and died at Florence, Italy, in his 
ninetieth year. He published a volume of Poems in 1795, 
the first parts of his best known work, Imaginary Gvnversa- 
lions, in 1824, and Epigrammes in both Latin and English. 
His style, which was classical rather than romantic, was 
greatly appreciated by such men as De Quiucey and Southey, 
but his lack of warmth, and his remoteness from the interests 
of his own time, were not calculated to make him popular. 
The mass of Landor's writings is very great, and his place in 
literature distinguished and assured; yet while many acknowl- 
edge his merits, comparatively few read his works. Never- 



716 THOMSON TO TEN"KYSON 

theless some of his highly finished short poems, like Bose 
Aylmer, are known to every lover of English verse. 

PROCTER. 

468« Bryan Waller Procter was born in London, 
1787, and died 1874. At Harrow he had as schoolmates Sir 
Robert Peel and Byron. He went to Loudon to study law, 
and he began to write in 1819 under the name of Barry Corn- 
walL; his first work was Dramatic Scenes and Other Poe7ns. 
A tragedy which he wrote in 1821, Mirandola, was performed 
with some measure of success at Coveut Garden. Several more 
books of verse appeared; memoirs of Kean and Charles Lamb, 
stories and other literary productions. His English Songs 
(1832) contains his best-known work. As a man he was much 
beloved, and hud among his friends Wordsworth, Coleridge, 
and Keats of the earlier time, and Tennyson, Browning, Car- 
lyle, and Dickens towards the close of his long life. 

HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 

469. Hartley Coleridge, son of Samuel Taylor Cole- 
ridge, was born at Clevedon, Somersetshire, in 1796, and 
died in 1849. He is buried at Grasmere near the grave of 
Wordsworth. He was a contributor to Blackwood's Magazine, 
and published Biographia Borealis or Lives of Distinguished 
Northmen in 1832. His prose is of good quality, original and 
interesting. He published a volume of Poems in 1833 As a 
poet he belongs to the school of Wordsworth, and is probably 
at his best in his sonnets, which have a rare charm of expres- 
sion. 

LAMB. 

470. Charles Lamb, one of the most charming of English 
prose-writers, was born in London in 1775. At the age of 
seven he entered Christ's Hospital, known from the peculiar 
dress of the pupils as the " Blue Coat School." Here he began 
his long friendship with Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Leaving 
school in 1789, he obtained a clerkship in the India House, a 
position which assured him a modest competence, and (what 
was even more important) some leisure hours to devote to lit- 
erature. His best work is in his prose. His Essays of Elia 
(1822-1824), which belong to the same class as those of 
Addison and Steele, have a delicacy, wit and pathos, a 
gentle and playful humor, which give them an indescribable 



HOOD 717 

charm. His deepest sympatbics were with the past, and his 
Specimens of Dramatic Poets Who Wrote about the Time of 
Shakespeare (1808) was an important contribution to that re- 
newed fondness for Elizabethan literature which was charac- 
teristic of his time. While he had an essentially poetic nature, 
depth, insight, sincerity, and a loving memory of early asso- 
ciation, Lamb but infrequently used verse as a medium of ex- 
pression. (See Int. Eng. Lit. 356 et seq.) 



HOOD. 

471. Thomas Hood was born in London in 1798, and died 
there in 1845. In 1821 he became a contributor to the London 
Magazine, but his poems, of a refined and rather melancholy 
character, were but little noticed. In 1825, in collaboration 
with his brother-in-law Reynolds, he put forth an anonymous 
volume of humorous verse. Odes and Addresses to Great People, 
which won instant recognition. Coleridge attributed it to 
Lamb, believing him to be the only man capable of its com- 
position. This determined Hood's manner. Whims and Od- 
dities followed in 1826, to which he added comic pictures of 
his own drawing. While Hood is chiefly thought of as a light 
and witty versitier, his nature has another and a nobler side. 
The depth, earnestness, and insight into suffering shown by 
such poems as The Song of the Shirt, The Death-Bed, and En- 
gene Aram make them a lofty and lasting contribution to our 
literature. 



VICTORIAN VERSE 



MACAULAY. 

477. Thomas Babington Macaulay (1800-1859) was 
born at Rothley Temple, Leicester, and died at Holly Lodge, 
Cnmpden Hill, Kensington. He was buried in the Poet's 
Corner, Westminster Abbey He was a most insatiable reader 
find a brilliant and versatile writer. History, biography, es- 
says, all flowed from his untiring pen. A trip to Italy inspired 
a book of poems, Lays of Ancient Rome, 1842, — ringing, mar- 
tial verse, of a healthy robust order. This book with a few 
other battle-pieces show his power to grasp and retain the 
purely picturesque side of historic character and incident, and 
complete his contribution to our poetry. (See Int. Eng. Lit. 
407 etseq.) 

THE BATTLE OF IVRY. 

Ivry. a village in France where the battle was fought, 
March 14, 1590, between Henry of Navarre, the champion 
of Protestantism, and the forces of the Roman Catholic 
"League'" (see Motley's United Netherlands, Vol. III. Ch. 
XXHI).— 6. Rochelle. A fortified seaport town of France, a 
stronghold of the Huguenots. 

478.— 15. Appenzel's stout infantry. Appenzel is a double 
Canton in Switzerland, one half of which is slanchly Prot- 
estant, while the other half is Roman Catholic, The people 
use a peculiar dialect and wear a distinctive dress. In this 
passage the Roman Catholics are obviously meant. — Egmont's 
Flemish spears. Count Philip of Egmont, a foremost man in 
the Spanish army, who commanded a body of Flemish troopers. 
— 16. Lorraine, etc. Henry of Lorraine, Duke of Guise, spy 
and agent of Philip II. of Spain. — Mayenne, Duke of Mayenne, 
lieutenant-general for the League. — 17. Truncheon, a com- 
mander's staff.— 19. Coligni, i.e., Gaspard deColigni, the great 
commander who had espoused the cause of the Huguenots 
and who was murdered on the Eve of St. Bartholomew by the 

718 



TENNYSON 719 

Roman Catholics. The remembrance of that horrible massacre 
always iuspired the opposite party to renewed action. — 31. 
Oriflamme. The banner of France, a red flag on a golden 
staff (01' = go\d,flamme = a flag). 

479. — 35. Guelders. A Dutch province half Protestant and 
half Roman Catholic— Almayne = Allemagne — Germany, 
used sometimes in tlie broad sense of the land on the Conti- 
nent within which the Germanic nations are dominant, hence 
Austria, Switzerland, the Netherlands, etc. — 42. D'Aumale 
Charles de Lorraine, duke D'Aumale, an ardent partisan of 
the League. 

480.— Lord of Rosny. Maximilian de Bethune Sully, Mar- 
quis and Duke of Rosney. He fouglit with the squadron 
which met Egmont's first onset, and received seven wounds. — 
55. Cornet. The standard of a troop of cavalry. — 64. Philip, 
send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles. An allusion to the 
moneys received from the iSpanish conquest of Mexico. A 
pistole was a common name in Italy, Spain, and elsewhere for 
coins of differing values. 



TENNYSON. 

481. Ai>FRED Tp:nnyson, in whose verse the deepest life 
of Victorian England has found its most comprehensive, 
artistic, and perhaps most enduring expression, was born at 
the village of Somersby, Lincolnshire, in 1809. He belonged 
to a family distinguished by physical vigor and a poetic tem- 
perament. 'J'eimysou was " the fourth of twelve children, . . . 
most of tliem more or less true poets, and of whom all except 
two have lived to 70 and upwards." Tennyson entered Cam- 
bridge in 1828; here he became intimate with Arthur H. Hal- 
lam, whose early death was the occasion of In Memo^iam. 
A book of juvenile verse, written in conjunction with his 
brother Charles, entitled Poems by Tico Brothers, appeared in 
1826. In 1829 he gained the University prize by his poem of 
Timhuctoo, and in 1830 he published his first independent 
venture. Poems Chiefly Lyricat. A similar collection appeared 
in 1833, and then, after an interval of silent growth, the col- 
lected poems of 1842, which placed him beyond all question 
among the greatest English poets of his time. In 1850 he 
published In Memoriam, probably the most thoughtful and 
original of his poems, and succeeded Wordsworth in the 
Laureateship. During the latter half of his life Tennyson's 
strength was largel}-- given to the Idylls of the King, a poem 
(or series of poems) on the Arthurian legend, and to his dramas, 
the most important of which deal with English historical 



720 VICTORIAN VERSE 



themes. The first ius'alment of the Idylls appeared in 1859, 
while Balin and Bnlnn, the last of the twelve Idylls which 
comprise the coinpkted work, was uot published until 1885. 
Tennyson's work as a dramatist dates from Queen Mary, 1875. 
Tennyson, like Browning, worked to the end of a long life. He 
died at his home in Farriugford, Isle of Wight, in 1892. 



LOCKSLEY HALL. 

Lockslay Hall first appeared in the volume of poems pub- 
lished in 1842. Tennyson says of it: " The whole poem rep- 
resents young life, its good side, its deficiencies, and its yearn- 
ings " He tells us further that " 'Locksley Hall ' is an imaginary 
place (tho'the coast is Lincolnshire), and the hero is imaginary.'' 
{Alfred Lord Tennyson: a Memoir, by His Son, I. 195.) But the 
poem represents not merely young life in general, but a young 
man at a time when the youth of England was stirred by the 
marvels of invention and of scientific discovery. More th;in 
forty years after the publication of this poem Tennyson wrote 
a sequel, Locksley Hall Sixty Tear After — a poem which rep- 
resents not merely the changed attitude of the hero toward 
science and democracy, but the changed feeling of the time. 
The two poems are, as Hallam Teimyson says, " descriptive of 
the tone of tlie age at two distant periods of his [Tennyson's] 
life, " and should be carefully compared. (See Hallam Ten- 
nyson's Memnr of liis father, II, 329.) 

483. — 35-41. Many a morning, etc. These lines are a good 
example of the natural background forming a setting in accord 
with man's mood or feeling. We have seen how love first came 
in the beauty and life of springtime, but the moorland which 
the lovers delighted in together becomes "dreary," and the 
shore "barren," after one of them has proved faithless. It 
may be that this changed aspect of nature is due to what 
Ruskin has named "the pathetic fallacy " (J/(?f/€?*7i Painters, 
Pt. IV. Ch. XII), that is, that man is apt to color his sur- 
roundings with the tone of his own feelings; or Tennyson may 
have chosen to select a season when nature is dreariest for the 
disappointed hero's return. In either case he has heightened 
the effect. 

485. — 59-63. Cursed be. etc. Tennyson's general attitude 
was conservative, but on two points he held very positive and 
radical views. He was impressed with the dangers of the 
modern money-getting spirit, and he protested in many poems 
against allowing a worship of wealth and social position to 
prevent an otherwise desirable marriage (see Aylmer's Field 
an 1 Maud). In The Miller's Daughter, on the other hand, he 



TENKYSON" 721 



shows lis love, triumphant over social differences, resulting in 
a happy married life. 

486. — 76. That a sorrow's crown of sorrows, etc. When 
we compare the original {Inf. V. 131): 

"... Nessun maggior dolore, 
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice 
Nella miser ia ; "" 

(There is no greater pain than to recall a happy time in 
wretchedness), we cannot but notice that Dante's lines gain 
by their simplicity, a strength which Tennyson's lose by their 
ornateness. Indeed simplicity is not one of the distinctive 
merits of Tennyson's style. (See Int. Eng. Lit. 473.) 

487.— 100-107. Every door is barr'd with gold, etc. Tenny- 
son felt very strongly, especially in his later years, that Eng- 
land was becoming more and more a slave to wealth. It was 
not only the door of marriage that was "barr'd with gold," 
but other doors as well, and even the honor of the nation could 
be sullied by a love of greed. Note how this danger is 
pointed out in To the Queen (an epilogue to The Idylls of the 
King, and cf. also M(iud). 

488.— 117-127. Men, my brothers, etc. The system of 
railroad transportation in England dates from about 1880. 
The electric telegraph was patented in 1837. The increased 
application of tliose two great forces, steam and electricity, 
meant an inevitable change in the social conditions of Eng- 
land. (See Int. Eng. Lit 402.)— 121. Argosies. Cf. note on 
Keats' Eve of St. Agnes, 268. 

489.— 127-131. Till the war-drum, etc. Tennyson believed 
to the last that universal peace could only be attained through 
war. (Cf. Epilogue to TJie Charge of the Heavy Brigade at 
Balaclava, and a more direct parallel of this passage in Locksley 
Hall Sixty Years After (11. 166-175). See, also, H. Tenny- 
son's Memoir, I. 400.) — 135, 136. Slowly comes a hungry people, 
etc. This is but one of many passages in which Tennyson ex- 
presses distrust of the power of the rising democracy. Cf. in 
The Palace of Art : 

" The people here, a beast of burden slow, 

Toil'd onward, prick'd with goads and stings ; 
Here play'd a tiger, rolling to and fro 
The heads and crowns of kings," 

Cf., also, the allusion to the French Revolution in Locksley 
Hall Sixty Years After : 

'' France had shown a light to all men, preach'd a gospel, all men's 
good ; 
Celtic Demos rose a Demon, shriek'd and slaked the light with blood." 



7*Z*4 VICTORIAN VERSE 

489-90.— 1 37-148. Yet I doubt not thro' the ages, etc. We 
find this idea of Evolution, as a law working in nature, for 
good and with a purpose, expressed again and again through- 
out Tennyson's work. Take, for example, the following pas- 
sage from In Memoriam, LIV : 

" Oh yet we trust that somehow good 
Will be the fiual goal of ill," etc. 

Cf. also, sections LV. and LVI. of that poem. The unim- 
portance of the individual in comparison with the working out 
of this cosmic process, suggested in 1 142, and "the individual 
withers," etc., recurs more fully in In Mem., LV. 

" Are God and Nature then at strife, 
That Nature lends such evil dreams ? 
So careful of the type she seems, 
So careless of the single life.''' 

491.— 157-184. Or to burst all links of habit, etc. The fol- 
lowing picture of a life of pure physical enjoyment and freedom 
from a civilized man's responsibilities strongly suggests The 
Lotus-Eaters. In that poem the wanderers yi ^Id to the same 
temptation here presented, to lead a life of dreamful ease in the 
exquisite tropical land before them ; here the hero turns away 
from the lower life, and his cry is "Forward ! forward ! " 

" Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay." 

Tennyson also suggests the natural reaction of an over-civiliza- 
tion toward a primitive life in his stanzas beginning : 

" You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease." 

492. — 183 Let the great world spin for ever down the ring- 
ing grooves of change. Tennyson tells us : " When I went by 
the first train from Liverpool to Manchester (1830), 1 thought 
that the wheels ran in a groove. It was black night and there 
was such a vast crowd round the train at the station that we 
could not see the wheels. Then I made this line." (Memoirs, 
L 195.) 

ULYSSES. 

493. This poem, published in 1842, is a contrast-study to 
The Lotus- Eaters. There we see Ulysses and his comrades 
yielding to the enchantments of a land that offered a life of 
perfect rest and peace. Here the desire is all for action. We 
learn through Hallam Tennyson (Memoirs, 1. 196) that Ulysses 



TENNYSON 723 

was written soon after Arthur Hallnm's death, and that it gave 
Teunyson's " feeling about the need of going forward, and 
braving the struggle of life perhaps more simply than anything 
in 'In Memoriam.'" (See, also, appendix of above, L 505.) 
The immediate source of Tennyson's Ulysses is a passage in 
Dante's Inf. (XXVI. 90'.— 10. The rainy Hyades. Cf. Pluvias- 
que Hyadafi geminosque Triones {vEneid I. 744; also III. 516). 
494.-22-25. How dull it is to pause, etc. Contrast the 
spirit of these lines with those in 21ie Lotus-Eaiers (57-70), 
beginning. " Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness," etc. 
(Cf. also Troilus and Cressida, III. 3. 150.) 

MORTE D'ARTHUR. 

495. This poem first appeared in the collection of 1842. 
It was afterwards incorporated into the Idylls of the King, 
where it forms the main part of 27ie Passing of ArtJiur. In 
this later form some preliminary matter and a brief conclusion 
have been added and the Introduction and Epilogue of the 
earlier version omitted, but the poem itself remains almost un- 
changed. The Morie D' Arthur is distinguished from the other 
poems in which Tennyson approached the f'reat central theme 
of his later verse, by the nature of its style or form. By mere 
measurement a short poem, it is in manner and by the fiction 
of the poet a fragment of a long one. Unlike its companion- 
studies, TJie Lady of Shalott and the rest, its mode of treat- 
ment is epical, and in it the large epic handling of the 
Arthurian story in the Idylls is thus first distinctly fore- 
shadowed. Tennyson adopted the same plan in his presenta- 
tion of the Morte D' Arthur that he afterwards followed in The 
Princess; in both instances he gave his old-world story a 
modern setting. The world of the present— its every -day dress 
and pressing interests — is thrust upon us in a prologue and 
after piece, and contrasted by implication with the world of the 
past. The introductory lines to the Morte D' Arthur also ex- 
plain the fragmentary character of the poem and call attention 
to its real nature. We learn that it is part of an epic on King 
Arthur, which consisted of the conventional twelve books, and 
that in style these books (according to their supposed author) 
were " faint Homeric echoes nothing-worth." The discussion 
as to the wisdom of thus going back to the past for subjects 
and, by imitating the great master of the epic, seeking to "re- 
model models," cannot but suggest to us that the same debate 
may have gone on within the mind of Tennyson himself. 
Edward Fitzgerald, Teunyson's life long friend, has informed 
us that the Introduction and Epilogue were an after-thought. 
They did not exist, he says, when Tennyson read the poem to 



734 VICTORIAN^ VERSE 



him in manuscript in 1835.— 7. How all the old honor, etc. 
An instance of what has been said of Teunysou's custom of 
iutroducing modern problems aud placing them in juxtapo- 
silion with the past. In modern Eugbmd the honor lias gone 
from Christmas, and the parson, "hawking" at recent science, 
laments its results in a "general decay of faith." In the Eng- 
land of the past, to which the poet then abruptly introduces 
us, Arthur, a Christian champion of the great ages of faith, 
declares that men who know God and pray not are on a level 
with "sheep and goats " (298-306). Finally, it is hinted in the 
Epilogue that Arthur, the great type of the old ideals, shall 
come agnin "like a modern gentleman." Then the sleeper 
wakes to hear in very truth 

" The clear church-bells ring in the Christmas morn." 

50. Read, mouthing out, etc. This seems to be an accurate 
description of Tennyson's manner in reading his own works 
aloud. Edward Fitzgerald, with this passage in mind, de- 
scribes him as "mouthing out his hollow oes and aes . . . with 
a broad North-country vowel. . . . His voice, very deep and 
deep-chesled — like the sound of a far sea or of a pine wood." 
Bayard Taylor writes : " His reading is a strange monotonous 
chant, with unexpected falling inflexions. ... It is very im- 
]»ressive." 

497.— 1 So all day long the noise of battle roU'd. Tradi- 
tion tells us that King Arthur was mortally wounded in a 
battle he fought against his nephew Mordred in 542. Slaughter 
Bridge, which is still pointed out as the place in Cornwall 
where this fight took place, is about a mile north of Camel- 
ford, on the river Camel, and three miles from Arthur's castle 
at Tintagel.— 6. The bold Sir Bedivere. For Bedivere cf. The 
Gominq of Arthur, 173-176. 

498. — 27. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, etc. 
The idea of a hero accomplishing wonderful deeds by the help 
of a magic weapon is a favorite one in romance. In the legends 
of Charlemagne, we have the account of Orlando, or Roland, 
winning from a Saracen the famous sword Dnrindana, which 
had once belonged to Hector of Troy aud was of such strength 
and temper that no armor was proof against it. The early 
English hero Beowulf finds "the victory-blessed weapon . . . 
the hand-work of giants," a sword too great for any ordinary 
man to wield, and with it kills Grendel's mother {Beowulf, 
XXIV. 1557). In the Nihelungenlied the possession of the 
famous sword Gram or Nothung, with which Siegfried slays 
the dragon, holds an important place in the story, — 29. In 
those old days, etc. See I'he Coming of Arthur, 283.-36, But 
now delay not, etc. We cannot but notice how closely Tenny- 



TENNYSOK 'J'25 

son has followed Malory in his description of what follows, 
in some places even preservini:: the wording of his original. 
Cf. the account beginning : "Therefore, said Arthur unto Sir 
Bedivere, take thou Excalibur, my good sword, and go with 
it to yonder waterside, and when thou comest there I charge 
thee throw my sword in that water, and come again and tell 
me what thou there seest. JVIy lord, said Bedivere, your com- 
mandment shall be done, and h'ghlly bring you word again." 
{Le Morte d' Arthur, Bk. XXI. Ch. V.) The word lightly is 
used here and by Tennyson in the sense of quickly. 

499. — 60 This way and that dividing the swift mind. A 
reminiscence of Verg. ^neid. IV. 285 : Atque animum hue ce- 
lerem, nunc dioidit illuc. — 80. Lief = beloved. This use is not 
found except in poetry (cf. "My liefest liege," 11. Hen. Vl. 
III. 1.) 

501. — 128. And flashing round and round, etc. The metri- 
cal structure of this line has been justly admired. It is to be 
noted that the last foot {in an arch) is an anapoest, not an 
iambus, and that the effect of this is to accelerate the ternpo 
and run the movement of the verse over to culminate in the 
abrupt monosyllable "shot " at the beginning of the next line. 
The repetition "and round and round" subtly impresses us 
with the feeling of a gathering momentum, a feeling heightened 
by the gradually accelerating movement of the latter part of 
the line, until with the word "shot" we reach the climax, as 
the sword leaves Bedivere's hand. 

502.— 186. Dry clash'd his harness, etc. This passage is a 
good example of Tennyson's skilful employment of sound 
effects. The lines which describe the armed knight struggling 
over the rocks, fairly bristle with harsh consonants ; the move- 
ment, moreover, co"ntinually accented by the sharp, rough 
monosyllables ("bare." "black," "juts," "crag," etc.) is what 
musicians would term staccato. But as we turn abruptly from 
the clatter of steel on stone to the lake shining in moonlight, 
the verse glides upon Z's and is melodious with soft vowel- 
sounds. A somewhat similar effect is found supra in 11. 101-2. 
(Cf. The Princess, III. 343.) 

503.— 220. Mix'd with the knightly growth, etc. When he 
choose.s, Tennyson is as complete a master of periphrasis (the 
art, as Lowell dubbed it, of calling " everything .something 
else") as any disciple of Pope. This helps to give his poetry 
that ornateness, that "curious elaborateness " that have been 
dwelt on by Walter Bagehot and Matthew Arnold. So in Enoch 
Arden the sailor's tish, in baskets of a very ancient and fish-like 
smell, appear as 

..." Enoch's ocean spoil 
In ocean-snielliiig osier." 



1126 VICTORIAN VERSE 

505. — 259, To the island valley of Avilion. In Celtic legend 
the island of Avilion, or Avalon, wtis thought to be an eailhly 
paradise for great heroes, in the western seas. This enchanted 
laud is often mentioned in the poetry of the Middle Ages, and 
the early Romances of Arthur tell us that he was borne away 
to Avalon to be healed of his wounds. Glastonbury was at 
one time called Avalon, and in Henry II. 's reign a tomb, which 
was supposed to be Arthur's, was discovered there. Malory, 
after telling how the king went to the vale of Avilion and 
mentioning the uncertainty in regard to his death, speaks of 
the belief some hold that he was buried at Glastonbury. — 278. 
Perhaps some modern touches here and there. This accurately 
describes Tennyson's method of dealing with classical or me- 
diseval themes. While preserving the ancient setting, it was 
his custom to infuse into it a spiritual meaning which was 
essentially modern. 

506.— 300-354. With all good things, etc. Cf. Tennyson's 
idea of the coming of a fuller Christianity in In Memoriam, 
CVI. 

SIR GALAHAD. 

506. The Arthurian Legend appealed to Tennyson at an 
early period, and he has given us a number of short poems, 
The Lady of S/ialott (1832), Sir Launcelot and Queen Ouine^- 
vere (1842), and SirGalaliad (1842), which may be regarded as 
preliminary studies to his epic treatment of the whole theme 
in The Idylls of the King. 

Sir Galahad and St. Agnes, while not avowedly companion- 
poems, are in a real sense complementary studies of themedise- 
val ideal. In the one, those ideals are presented to us in a 
masculine and militant, in the other, in a feminine and purely 
devotional form. As Tanish remarks: " Galahad's rapture is 
altogether that of the mystic. He is almost a St. Agnes, ex- 
changing only the rapture of passivity for the transport of ex- 
ultant effort." (.4 Study of Tennyson's Works, p. 75.) 

507. — 42. Three angels bear the Holy Grail. Tennyson has 
given us a fuller account of Sir Galahad's quest in his Idyll of 
The Holy Orail. Inasmuch as the promise was made only 
to the pure in heart to see God {St. Matt. v. 8), so the vision 
of the Holy Grail was only possible to those who possessed 
great purity. 

508.— 51. The cock crows ere the Christmas morn. Cf. 
Earn. L 1. 158: 

" Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 
The bird of dawning singeth all night long." 



TENKYSON 727 



BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. 

509. These verses (pub. 1842), which seem as if they 
must have been written within sight and sound of the sea, 
were in reality composed " in a Lincolnshire lane at 5 o'clock 
in the morning, between blossoming hedges." {Memoirs, I. 
190.) 

It was not until 1850 that Tennyson published In Memoriam, 
which was inspired by the loss of his friend Arthur Hallam, 
who died in 1833. But this short poem of Break, Break, Break, 
is an exquisite expression of Tennyson's own grief, and we 
find in it two lines almost parallel to some he wrote just after 
Hallam's death. Hallam Tennyson says: "On the evening 
of one of these sad winter days my father had already noted 
down in his scrap-book some fragmentary lines, which proved 
to be the germ of ' In Memoriam ' : 

' Where is the voice I loved ? ah, where 
Is that dear liand that I would press ? ' etc." (Memoirs, I. 107.) 

TEARS, IDLE TEARS. 

509. This is one of the six songs which appeared in the 
third edition of The Princess, published in 1850. They were 
introduced, Hallam Tennyson tells us, '" to express more 
clearly the meaning of ' the medley.' " 

These songs 

" The women sang 
Between the rougher voices of the men 
Like linnets in the pauses of the wind." 

Tennyson said that " The passion of the past, the abiding 
in the transient, was expressed in 'Tears, Idle Tears,' which 
was written in the yellowing autumn-tide at Tintern Abbey, 
full for me of its bygone memories. Few know that it is a 
blank-verse lyric." {Memoirs, I. 253.) 

INTRODUCTION TO "IN MEMORIAM." 

511. This opening poem, in which Tennyson has con- 
centrated much of the essence of Li Memoriam, was written 
in 1849, after that work was complete. The whole was pub- 
lished in 1850. 

1. Strong Son of God, etc. Mr. Churton Collins suggests the 
following parallel from Herbert's Love: 

" Immortal Love, author of this great frame. 

Sprung from that beautie wliich can never fade; 
How hath man panel'd out thy glorious name, 
And thrown it on that dust which thou hast made.'' 



728 VICTORIAN" VERSE 



15. Our wills are ours, etc. Mr. Collins says : " The best com- 
nientury ou this, is the whole of the third cnuto of Daute's 
Paradiso." (Of. also In Mem. CXXXI, and the poem entitled 
Will.) — 17. Our little systems, etc. Mr. Collins also cites Her- 
bert's Whit- Sunday : "Lord, though we change, thou art the 
same." 

511, 512.— 31-28. We have but faith, etc. Cf. Heb. xi. 1: 
" Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence 
of things not seen." 

512.— 25. Let knowledge grow, etc. Cf. In Mem. CXIV; 
Locksley Hall, 141; and Cowper's Task, Bk. VI. 88. 

SELECTIONS FROM "MAUD." 

Maud, which has been appropriately classified as "a mono- 
dramatic lyric," appeared in 1855, following In Memoiiam 
and The Princess. It is daringly modern ; attacking the mania 
for money-getting, the adulteration of food and drugs, and 
kindred abuses which are seldom allowed to invade literature. 
It has been harshly criticised and is undeniably unequal, but 
it contains passages which must be placed among the highest 
achievements of Tennyson's genius. If Tennyson has ever 
equalled, he has certainly never surpassed, the two great 
spousal-songs, " I have led her home" and " Come into the 
Garden, Maud," in any poem of similar range and intention. 
In intensity of emotion, freedom and flow of lyric movement, 
and delicate beauty of fancy and imagination, these love songs 
are among the poetic glories of the Victorian Era. 

CROSSING THE BAR. 

515. Hallam Tennyson writes : " ' Crossing the Bar' was 
written in my father's eighty-first year, on a day in October 
when we came from Aldvvorth to Farringford. Before reach- 
ing Farringford he had the Moaning of the Bar in his mind, 
and after dinner he showed me this poem wiitten out. I said, 
' That is the crown of your life's work.' He answered, * It 
came in a moment.' He explained the 'Pilot' as 'That 
Divine and Unseen who is always guiding us.' A few days 
before my father's death he said to me : ' Mind you put 
"Crossing the Bar" at the end of my poems.'" {Memoirs, 
II. 367.) 

BROWNING. 

516. Robert Browning had the keenest and subtlest 
intellect, the deepest and broadest human sympathy, of any 
English poet of his generation. He stands apart from his 



I 



BROWNING 729 



poetic contemporaries by the originality of his methods and 
by the uuconveuliouality and power of his style. He was 
born in Camberwell (a suburban district of Loudon, on the 
Surrey side of the Thames) in 1812. His father, a clerk in the 
Bank of England, was, in his son's woids, "a scholar and 
knew Greek." As a boy Browuiug came under the spell of 
Keats and Shelley, the influence of the latter on his early style 
being especially marked. Pauline, his first published poem, 
appeared in 1833, Later in the same year he visited Italy, 
which exercised so important an influence on his thought and 
work that he once called it his "University." Within the 
next five or six years he produced a play and two long poems, 
one of them dramatic in form. In 1841 he began to publish 
poems in a series, to which he gave the mystifying name of 
Bells and Pomegranates. The poems in this series were issuid 
in shilling numbers, and many of Browning's best works first 
appeared in this form. In 1846 Browning married Elizabeth 
Barrett (see p. 539), and the two poets settled in Italy. Brown- 
ing's poetic activity extends over nearly sixty years, and the 
number of his poems makes any enumeration of them here 
impossible. Among many notable works Men and Women 
(1855), Dramatis Personm (1864), and his monumental master- 
piece, The Ring and the Book (1868-69), demand especial men- 
tion. After the death of his wife in 1861, Browning lived for 
a time in England ; but he returned to Italy, and died there 
at Asolo in 1889. Whatever place he may ultimately hold 
among English poets, Browning, "ever," as he says, "a 
tighter," has been one of the most wholesome and inspiring 
forces in the literature of our time. When other " kings of 
thought " have doubted, wavered, or retreated, his voice has 
been a trumpet-call rallying a dispirited, bewildered, and 
sophisticated generation. 

MY LAST DUCHESS. 

This poem is a conspicuous example of Browning's mastery 
of the dramatic monologue ; a poetic form of which he is 
commonly thought to have been the inventor, and which, at 
least, he brought to an artistic perfection never before attained. 
These fifty-six lines, alive with suggestion, and revealing in a 
perfectly unforced and natural conversation the depths of two 
characters and the history of two lives, are sufficient in them- 
selves to prove Browning a consummate artist of a strong and 
original type. The poem first appealed in Dramatic Lyrics, 
the third number of Bells and Pomegranates, in 1842. It was 
there entitled Italy,a,m\ was the first of two companion poems, — 
Italy and France. The Duke, like the Bishop who ordeied 



'^30 VICTORIAN VERSE 

his tomb at St. Praxed's Cburcb, is a characteristic product of 
the Italy of the Renaissauce. He exemplifies Browning's 
favorite doctriae that we are uot saved by taste, and that a tine 
gesibetic appreciatioa is by no means incompaiible with a 
small, ignoble, and woildly nature. — C. Frau Pandolf is an 
imaginary artist, as is Ctaus of Innsbruck (56). 

517. — 45. This grew; I gave commands. Prof . Corson is 
clearly right in saying that this " certainly must not be under- 
stood to mean commands for ber death, as it is understood 
by the writer of the articles in * The St. Paul's Magazine ' for 
December 1870 and January 1871." 

HOME THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD. 

518. These verses appeared in Bramaiic Lyrics, the seventh 
number of Bdls and Pomegranates, 1845. It was th^ first of a 
group of three poems. Here's to Nelson's Memory and Nobly 
Cape St. Vincent being the other two. The famous descrip- 
tion of the thrush's song has a beauty that comes from an 
absolute truth to fact. Cf. Lowell's hardly less famous passage 
on the song of the bobolink in An Indian- Summer Reverie. 

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 

519. This poem was written in 1847, the first summer the 
Brownings passed in Italy. It was published in Men and 
Women, 1855. L' Angelo Custode, the picture which inspired 
the poem, is in the Church of St. Augustine at Fano, a town 
on the Adriatic. It was painted by Gucrcino and "repre- 
sented an angel standing with outstretched wings by a 
little child. The child is half kneeling on a kind of pedestal, 
while the angel joins its hands in prayer ; its gaze is directed 
upwards towards the sky, from which cherubs are looking 
down." The poem was addressed to Alfred Domett (Waring). 
I have omitted the last three verses, which are on a less 
exalted level and seem to add little to the poem. They 
explain the ciicumstances under which the verses were com- 
posed, and close with a regret at Domett's absence in Aus- 
tralia. 

ANDREA DEL SARTO. 

521. This is one of the most satisfying and ficished of 
Browning's dramatic monologues ; it is as perfect a work of 
art as Mif Last Duchess, but more complex and on a larger 
scale. We naturally associate it with Fra Lippo Lippi, Old Pic- 
tures in Hlorence, The Bishop Orders His Tomb at St. Praxed's 



BROWNIJ^G 731 

Church, and other poems which show both Browning's views 
of the true function of iirt in relation to life, and the profound 
effect that Italy and Italian art had upon his genius. In his 
portrayal of the characters of Andrea and his wife Lucrezia, 
Browning has followed the life by Giorgio Vasari, who him- 
self was Andrea's pupil. Browning had also in mind a 
portrait of Andrea del Sarto and his wife supposed to be 
painted by himself and now in the Pitti Palace, Florence. 
John Kenyon asked Browning for a copy of this picture, which 
he was unable to give. As a substitute he put the spirit of 
the picture, as he understood it, into the sister-art of verse. 
Andrea, called " del sarto," — or, as we would say, the tailor's 
son, — was born at Florence in 1487. After working at gold- 
smithing, wood-carving, and drawing, and studying under 
several painters, he executed some frescoes for the Church of 
the Annunciation at Florence, with such accuracy and skill 
that he gained the name of pittore senza errore — the faultless 
painter. At twenty-three he is said to have had no superior 
in Central Italy in technique. In 1512 he married Lucrezia, 
"a beautiful widow." "But," says Vasari. "he destroyed 
his own peace, as well as estranged his friends, by this act, 
seeing that he soon became jealous, and found that he had 
fallen into the hands of an artful woman, who made him do 
as she pleased in all things." In 1518 he went to Paris with- 
out Lucrezia, at the invitation of Francis I. This is the 
period of adulation and substantial rewards that he looks back 
upon in the poem as his long festal year, when he could 
"sometimes leave the ground." But Lucrezia wrote urging 
his return. The king granted him a brief leave of absence, 
and commissioned him to buy certain works of art in Italy. 
Andrea, beguiled by his wife, used the money which Francis 
had entrusted to him, to build a house for himself at Flor- 
ence. His career in France being thus miserably interrupted, 
he remained in Florence, where he died of the plague in 1531. 
(See analysis of the poem in " Study List," Int. Eiig. Lit. 502.) 
15. Fiesole. A small town on a hill-top about three miles to 
the west of Florence. Possibly the convent to which Andrea 
alludes is that of San Domenico, which was situated between 
Florence and Fiesole. Browning apparently makes Andrea 
build his house on the outskirts of Florence immediately fac- 
ing the Convent of San Domenico, with Fiesole in the distant 
background. If this was the convent intended, the pathos of 
the poem is heightened by the contrast between Fra Angelico, 
the heavenly-minded painter with whose early life it is asso- 
ciated, and Andrea, the painter incomparably superior to him 
in technical skill, but weighed down with a mind that cannot 
rise above earthly things. 



732 VICTOIUAN VERSE 

522. — 49. Love, we are in God's hand, etc. This is not 
piety, but Andrea's characteristic way of evading responsi- 
bility. Later he attributes his comparative failure to his wife 
(125), and then, suddenly shifting to the other view, declares 
that after all " incentives come from the soul's self." 

523.-78. Less is more. Vasari says of Andrea: "Had 
this master possessed a somewhat bolder and more elevated 
mind, had he been as much distinguished for higher qualitica- 
tious as he was for genius and depth of judgment in the art 
he practised, he would beyond all doubt have been without an 
equal." — 93. Morello. A mountain to the north of Florence. 

.i»24. — 105. The Urhinate — Raphael, who was so called 
from his birthplace, Urbino. 

525.— 130. Agnolo = Michael Angelo or Michelangelo 
Buonarroti, whose name is sometimes given, it is said, more 
correctly as Michelagniolo. 

I|^26.— 166. Had you not grown restless, etc. In the first 
edition of his Lives of tJie Painters, Vasari dwells at some 
length upon the complaining letter which Andrea's wife wrote 
him from Florence. Her "bitter complaints" dressed up 
"with sweet words" ordered Andrea (as Vasari says) " to re- 
sume his chain." The passage, like others relating to Lucrezia, 
was omitted from the subsequent editions. — 178. The Roman's 
= Raphael, who left Florence to settle in Rome about 1508. — 
189. Friend, there's a certain, etc. In Bocchi's Bellezze di 
Firenze, Michael Angelo is reported to have spoken thus of 
Andrea to Raphael: "There is a bit of a manuikin at Flor- 
ence who, had l»e chanced to be employed in great undertak- 
ings as you have happened to be, w^ould compel you to look 
well about you." 

527.— 210. The cue-owls, etc. A name applied to the 
Scops-owl {Scops Gill). Common on the shore of the Mediter- 
ranean and a summer visitant to Britain. {Murray's Diet.) "To 
my ear its cry is a clear metallic ringing ki-ou, whence the 
Italian names Ghiii, Ciit." (Howard "Saunders, Manual of 
British Bird^, p. 298.) See Aurora Leigh, Bk. VIII. 36.— 240. 
Scudi, pi. of scudo, a silver coin of the Italian States, about the 
value of the American dollar. 

528.— 250. My father and my mother died of want. etc. 
Vasari says on this point: "He (Andrea) abandoned his own 
poor father and mother, . . . and adopted the father and sis- 
ters of his wife in their stead: insomuch that all who knew 
the facts mourned over him. and he soon began to be as much 
avoided as he had previously been sought after." 

529.-263. Leonard. Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519). While 
on earth this great painter, sculptor, architect, and engineer 
came more than once into direct competition with Michael 



BROWNING 733 

Angelo, who is said to have regarded his older rival with jeal- 
ous dislike. 

PROSPICE. 

This fighter's challenge to Death is distinctively English and 
distinctively religious. The abrupt masculine vigor of its 
verse, the unflinchiug courage with which it looks squarely in 
the eyes of the " Arch-Fear," these things are in keeping with 
the spirit of the Anglo-Saxon, from its earliest literary records 
until now. But it is no less true that the speaker is sustained 
by a confidence in the issue of the inevitable struggle, to which 
his earliest forefathers were straiigers. The spirit of the 
Christian is united to the spirit of the Viking. It is not only 
emphatically English, but equally characteristic of Browning, 
himself a good example of sterling Anglo-Saxon manhood. 
The same unconquerable spirit is shown at the last in the 
"Epilogue" in Asolando. Prospice was wiitten in the au- 
tumn of 1861; Browning had lost his wife earlier in that year, 
and the poem is evidently born out of the depth of his own 
experience. It was published in Dramatis Personm, in 1864. 
The passage from Dante that Browning wrote in his wife's 
Testament might be taken as an expression of the essence of 
this poem : " Thus I believe, thus I affirm, thus I am certain 
it is, that from this life I shall pass to another better, there, 
where that lady lives of whom my soul was enamoured," 

Prospice = look forward (imp. of prospicio). 

RABBI BEN EZRA. 

530. This poem was first published in Dramatis Personm, 
1864. Alive in every line with courage and quickening power, 
it is charged with the vital spirit that animates Browning and 
his work. The poet has expressed the ideals which dominate 
it in many ways and in many poems, but It would be difficult 
to name another poem in which he has summed up his phi- 
losophy of life in a form at once so brief, so clear, so beautiful, 
and so comprehensive. It is above all a poem to live by, and 
it contains the essence of Browning's creed. The poem is 
dramatic, but only in a secondary and formal way. The per- 
sonality of Rabbi Ben Ezra is consequently of minor impor- 
tance, since he is but a mouthpiece for Browning himself. 
Nevertheless the Jewish teacher who is supposed to be im- 
parting to youth the ultimate wisdom of age is not an imagi- 
nary person, but a man whose views, so far as we can judge, 
were really similar to those the poet has put into his mouth. 
Rahhi Ben Ezra, whose real name is said to have been Abra- 
ham hen Meir hen Ezra, and who is variously spoken of as 



734 VICTORIAN VERSE 



Abenezra, Iben JEkra, Ahenare, and Evenare, was one of the 
most distinguished Jewish scholars and Old Testament com- 
mentators of the Middle Ages. He was born at Toledo, dur- 
ing the latter part of the eleventh century, and is said to have 
died at Rome, about 1168. A hard student throughout his 
life, he lost none of his vigor or ambition through age, as he 
began a Commentary on the Pentateuch at sixty-four, and 
afterward entirely rewrote it. His view of life was lofty ; to 
him the only reality was spirit, and he regarded material 
things as of very minor and temporary importance. (For 
fuller account, see "Rabbi ben Ezra " in Cooke's Bi^owning 
Guide Book.) 

7. Not that, amassing flowers, etc. The construction is, I do 
not remonstrate that youth, amassing flowers, sighed, etc., nor 
that it yearned, etc. 

531. — 31. Then welcome each rebuflf. etc. This idea is a 
fundamental one with Browning, and is often reiterated in his 
poems. Cf. Saul: 

" By the pain-throb, triumphantly winning intensified bliss, 
And the next world's reward and repose, by the struggle in this." 

In Rephan, the passage beginning : 

" Oh gain were it to see above," etc. 

And in Clean : 

" That, stung by straitness of our life, made strait 
On purpose to make sweet the life at large," etc. 

532.— 40. "What I aspired to be, etc. Cf. Saul : 

" 'Tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do! " 

46. To man, propose this test. This thought is strikingly close 
to the real Aben Ezra's philosophy as summarized by Dr. 
Friedlander : "The Soul, only a stranger and prisoner in the 
body, filled with a burning desire to return home to its 
heavenly abode, certainly demands our principal attention." — 
57. I, who saw power, etc. This idea that Love as well as 
Power is to be discerned as a motive force in the universe, 
more than once alluded to by Browning, is made the main 
theme of "Reverie "in Asolando. The central idea of this 
poem is found in the following stanza : 

" I have faith such end shall be : 

From the first, Power was— I knew. 

Life has made clear to me 
That, strive but for closer view, 

Love were as plain to see." 

533.-84. Indue— in the original sense of to put on, to clothe 
(Lat. induere). 



BROWNING 735 

535.— 121. Be there, etc. Let tliere be, finally, the true 
station assigned to each. Was I who arraigned the world 
right, or thi-y who dis(huned my soul? 

536. — 142. All instincts immature. The idea that a man's 
aspirations as well as his actual accomplishment must be taken 
into account in the absolute judgement of his life is also ex- 
pressed in Lowell's poem Longing. Cf. further, on the insuf- 
ficiency of the world's judgment, Lycidas: 

" Alasl what boots it with uncessant care," etc. 

151. Ay. note that Potter's wheel, etc. Cf, Is. Ixiv. 8, and 
Jer. xviii. 2-6. liolfe cites the Bvhdiydt of Omar Khayyam, 
LXXXIII-XC. See, also, Longfellow's Keramos.—\hQ. 
Since life fleets, etc. This maxim of the Epicurean philoso- 
phy has found frequent and beauliful expression inverse. Cf. 
Horace, Odes, I. ii. 8: " Carfe diem, qnam minimum credula 
postero." Herrick: To tJie Virgins, 1o Make Much of Time, 
etc. 

537.— 157. All that is at all. Cf. Alt. Vogler, IX. 5. : 

" There shall never be one lost good," etc. 

538. — 190. My times be in Thy hand ! See Psalms xxiv. 
15: " My times are in thy hand." 



E. B. BROWNING. 

539. Elizabeth Bareett Beowning (1809-1861) was 
born at Carlton Hall. Durham, England. Owing to ill health 
she led a secluded life, devoting her time to leading and study 
in many languages and to the writing of poems Among her 
earliest efforts is a spirited translation of ^schylus' Prcme- 
theus Bound (1833). In 1846 she met and married Robert 
Browning, the poet. Her love for him inspired her to write 
Sonnets from the Portuguese, which are among the most im- 
passioned and beautiful love poems, and are almost unique as 
the presentation of love from the woman's point of view. She 
wrote many poems and sonnets ; Aurora Leigh, the best 
known of her long works, is a poem of considerable beauty 
and interest, but of unequal literary merit. In 1848 her Casa 
Ouidi Windows appeared, showing her deep sympathy with 
her adopted country, Italy, which was then in a transition 
state. She died at Florence on the 29th of June 1861, in the 
Casa Guidi, where a tablet now records the esteem in which 
the city of Florence held her. 



736 VICTORIAN VERSE 



KINGSLEY. 

544. Charles Kingsley, clergyman, novelist, poet, and 
social reformer, was boru June 19, 1819, at Holm Vicarage, 
Dartmouth, Devon. He took his degree at Magdalene College, 
Cambridge, in 1842, and soon after became curate and then 
rector of Eversley, Hampshire, which was his home for the 
remaining thirty- three years of his life. For a time he was 
Professor of Modern History at the University of Cambridge; 
he held a canonry at Chester, which was exchanged in 1873 
for a canonry at Westminster. He died at Eversley. January 
23, 1875. Kingsley, a man of aggressive energy, intense 
enthusiasms, varied interests, and lofty ideals, was one of the 
most stimulating and wholesome influences of his time. He 
worked in his parish; he threw himself into the cause of the 
poor of England, and became their champion in tracts, novels, 
and poems. His collected works fill twenty-eight volumes, 
including sermons, criticisms, historical lectures, books on 
geology and on education. His work as an author began with 
poetry {The Saint" s Tragedy, 1848), but the diversified activities 
and duties of a busy life were hardly compatible with the se- 
rious pursuit of so exacting an art. When this is considered, 
Kingsley's place as a poet is seen to be surprisingly high. He 
was a true song writer, and Tke Three Fishers, the Sands of 
Dee, and some of his other lyrics and shorter poems, are likely 
to be loved and known long after many lengthy and elaborate 
productions of more ambitious poets have been forgotten. 



CLOUGH. 

548. Arthur Hugh Clough was born at Liverpool in 
1819. He was an earnest child fond of reading and the old 
Greek stories. In 1829 he was sent to Rugby and came under 
Dr. Arnold's influence. He gained theBalliol scholarship and 
went to Oxford in 1836. This was a turning-point in Clough's 
career. Oxford was at that time agitated by the Tractarian 
movement and Clough was thus brought in to the storm-centre 
of theological controversy. In 1842 he was elected fellow of 
Oriel, and in the following year was also appointed tutor of his 
college. During 1843 his first volume of verse appeared en- 
titled Amharvalia. He felt that teaching was his natural voca- 
tion, and yet, being bound by his position to silence on the 
subject of his mental struggle over the religions questions then 
pending, his honesty led him to resign his post of tutor in 1848. 
In that year he wrote his first and perhaps his best long poem, 



ARNOLD 737 

the Bothie of Toher-na- Vuolich, aud also Amours de Voyage. 
He received an invitation to take the Headship of University 
Hall, London, an unsectarian institution, and he entered upon 
liis duties there in 1849. In 1850 he took a short trip to 
Venice and wrote Bipsyc/ius, a long poem bearing the impress 
of this Venetian visit. He resigned his post at University Hall 
in 1852 and made a visit to America, where he nmained for 
about a year. During this time he composed his Sovgs of 
Absence, wrote for the magazines, and began a translation of 
Plutarc?i's Lives for an American publisher. In 1853 he re- 
turned to England, aud in 1860 was obliged by failing health 
to leave England again for foreign travel. During this trip 
he composed his poem Mari Magno, a series of tales told by a 
party of friends on a sea-voyage, and dealing with the social 
problems of love and marriage. Not gaining in health, he went 
to Italy, but was stricken with fever and died at Florence in 
1861, in his forty-third year. Matthew Arnold, Clough's waim 
friend, wrote the beautiful elegy, Thyrsis, to his memory. 



ARNOLD., 

551. Matthew Aenold (1822-1888) was born at Lale- 
ham, a town not far from London in the valley of the Thames. 
His father, Thqmps Arnold, was one of the greatest of English 
teachers, and Matthew, who was educated at the great public 
schools of Winchester and Rugby, aud at Balliol College, 
Oxford, had every help which the academic training of his day 
could afford. He won a scholarship at Balliol in 1840, gained 
the Newdigate prize by a poem on Cromwell in 1844, and was 
elected fellow of Oriel in 1845. He was made Lay Inspector 
of Schools in 1851, and labored iudefatigably in this onerous 
and exacting position until 1885. From 1857 to 1867 he was 
Professor of Poetry at Oxford. The earlier half of Arnold's 
literary career was devoted almost entirely to poetry; the latter 
almost as exclusively to prose. His first book of verse. The 
Strayed Reveller and Other Poems, appealed in 1849, while his 
essay On Translating Homer, which marks his advent as a 
critic, was not published until 1861. It was not until 1853, 
when he published a book of collected Poems under his full 
name (formerly he had only given the initial M.), that Arnold 
became known as a poet outside a limited circle. In prose, 
Arnold stands at the head of the literary criticism of his time: 
in poetry, if his greatest contemporaries excel him in range, 
emotion, or power, his place is nevertheless an honorable one, 
and his work possesses within narrow limits an excellence dis- 
tinctively its own. That excellence lies chiefly in a certain 



'38 VICTORIAN VERSE 



exactness of phrase ; a marked refinement of tone; in a lofty 
but austerely intellectual temper, and above all in a classic 
beauty which we associate with severity and restraint. Arnold 
was avowedly a pupil of Wordsworth in poetry; but while he 
shared in his master's love of Nature, his poetry has not the 
serenity nor religious hope that animate his predecessor. Yet 
Arnold's verse possesses unmistakably the quality of distinc- 
tion: it represents a classic purity of outline in an age when 
Romantic poetry had carried to great lengths the color and 
warmth of a lavishly decorative art. 

THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE. 

T?ie Grande CJiartreuse is a famous Carthusian monastery, 
founded by Bruno in 1084. Bruno, tired of the world, longed 
for a life of seclusion and religious contemplation. He con- 
sulted with Hugo, bishop of Grenoble, who suggested the 
wilds near Chartreuse, a little town in the mountains of the 
department of Isere, France, from which the monks took the 
name of their retreat. The large buildings with high i oofs, 
and turrets surmounted by the cross, loom up in this almost 
inaccessible spot. The poem gives a good description of the 
narrow mule-track leading past the tiny villages, and the Dead 
Guier {Guiers Mori, a tributary of the river Rhone). 

552. — 37. Where no organ's peal. This does not harmonize 
with stanza 34, "The organ carries to our ear." The writer 
of the article on " Carthusian " in Enc. Brit, says that "on 
feast-days they eat twice, and sing all the offices of the Church," 
but I cannot find which statement of Arnold's in regard to the 
use of the organ is correct. — 49. The library. In the early 
days of the order this library had a most valuable collection 
of books and manuscripts. 

553. — 62. Each its own pilgrim-host. There are four sep- 
arate halls for the reception of visiting monks from France, 
Italy, Germany, and Burgundy. — 85. Wandering between two 
worlds. This stanza clearly shows Matthew Arnold's unsettled 
state of mind, his intellectual side warring with his religious 
nature, and his inability to hold fast to either. (See Int. Eng. 
Lit. 435, etc.) 

554. — 99. Sciolists = pretenders to scientific knowledge. 
— 115. Achilles ponders in his tent. Achilles, angered at Aga- 
memnon, who has taken a captive maiden, Briseis, from him, 
retires to his tent and refuses to take any further interest in 
the battle. (See the opening of Homer's Iliad.) 

555. — 139. Shelley. Shelley was drowned while sailing on 
the " Spezzian bay." — 146. Obermann = liltienne Pivart de 
Senancour, born at Paris in 1770 and destined for the priest- 



ROSSETTI 739 

hood. He was an insatiable reader, and his study of Helvetius, 
Malebranche.and the eighteenth-century philosophers entirely 
destroyed his faith. He escaped from France and his destined 
profession, went to Geneva, married, lost his fortune, and 
lurned to his pen for support. He wrote Obermann, his most 
famous book, in 1804. Matthew Arnold shows his great ad- 
miration for Senancour in his two poems, In Memory of the 
Author of Obermann and Obermann once more. 

ROSSETTI. 

565. Gabriel Charles Dante Rossetti, or Dante 
Gabriel Rossetti as he is more generally known, was born 
in London in 1828. He was the son of an Italian exile,— a 
poet, Dante scholar, and man of letters,— who, forced to leave 
Italy for political reasons, had settled in London as a teacher 
of Italian. Much that the father thus exemplified, entered 
by inheritance and early surroundiogs into tbe character of 
his more distinguished son, and found expression in his art. 
From childhood Dante Rossetti's ambition was to be a 
painter, and at fifteen he left school ard began tbe study of 
art. Through these studies he became acquainted with the 
young painters John Everett Millais acd William Holman 
Hunt, and with them he started tbe so-called Pre-Raphaelite 
Brotherhood. The artistic reforms which the Brotherhood 
hoped to effect included poetry as well as painting, and Ros- 
setti — who loved and excelled in both arts — expressed these 
ideas in both. On the side of literature, the bent of Rossetti's 
taste is shown by the publication in 1861 of his translations 
from the early Italian poets, afterwards published as Dante and 
his Circle. His original work in poetry began early, but his 
first book of poems (many of them written years before) was 
not published until 1870. Another volume, containing some 
of his best ballads and the remarkable sonnet-sequence The 
House of Life, appeared in 1881. He died in the spring of the 
following year. Rossetti is as distinctly an exponent of the 
Romantic as Arnold is of the Classic spirit. Like Keats he 
surrounds mediaeval subjects with a glow of warmth and 
color ; like Keats, too, he is a pictorial poet. But he reaches 
the Middle Ages through Italy, and the atmosphere of early 
Italian religion, poetry, and art, is almost inseparable from his 
work. 

THE BLESSED DAMOZEL. 

Rossetti wrote this poem in the nineteenth year of his age, or 
in the early half of 1847. His brother, Mr. W. M. Rossetti, is 



740 VICTORIAN VERSE 

quite right in sayiug that it "ranks as highly remarkable 
among the works of juvenile writers," especially when its 
" total unlikeness to any other poem then extant is taken into 
account." Mr. Hall Caiue is the authority for the statement 
that the Blessed Damozel grew out of Rossetti's youthful love 
for Poe's Raven. "I saw," Rossetti said to Mr. Caine, "that 
Poe had done the utmost it was possible to do with the grief 
of the lover on earth, so I determined to reverse the conditions, 
and give utterance to the groaning of the loved one in heaven." 
The poem was published in the second number of The Oerm, 
in February 1850 ; it next appeared in The Oxford and Gam- 
hridge Magazine, 1856, and finally in the Poems of 1870. In 
each case, Rossetti made some changes. Mr. Joseph Knight, 
after remarking that the poem "seems to have no literary 
prototype," adds: "Such inspiration as is traceable to any 
source whatever belongs assumably to the pictures of those 
early Italian painters whom Rossetti had lovingly studied, 
and to domestic influences to which he yielded." (Life of 
"Rossetti" in Great Writers.) 

1. Blessed. Specifically, one of the blessed in paradise. Cf. 
Ancient Mariner : 

"I thought that I had died in sleep 
Aud was a blessed ghost." 

See also Par. Lost, III. 136.— 3. Her eyes were deeper, etc. It 
is instructive to note the poet's changes in these two lines. In 
the first version they stood : 

" Her grave blue eyes were deeper much 
Than a deep water, even." 

This was changed to : 

" Her eyes knew more of rest and shade 
Than waters stilled at even." 

13. Herseemed = it seemed to her. The word appears to have 
been coined by Rossetti, as I can find no authority for its use. 
566. — 19. To one. In these parenthetical verses, we are 
suddenly transported to earth, and hear the bereft lover speak. 
— 25. It was the rampart, etc. Mr. Knight cites this descrip- 
tion as " marvellously daring and original." — 49. From the fixed 
place, etc. This is one of the most strikingly imaginative con- 
ceptions in the poem, and one of the most admired. The idea 
was apparently suggested by the Ptolomaic cosmology, which 
has an assured place in the imagination of readers of poetry, 
through Dante and Milton. According to the Ptolomsean 
ideas, the earth, the centre of the universe, was encompassed 
by a series of hollow crystalline spheres; the tenth sphere or 



WILLIAM MORRIS 741 

pri7num mobile was supposed to impart its motion to theolbtrs, 
while the fixed heaven, or Empyrean, lay outside of them all. 
The '* music of the spheres " was supposed to have betn pro- 
duced by the vibration arising from the rubbing of the one 
against the other. This music seems to be alluded to at the 
end of the stanza. 

568. — 86. That living mystic tree. The poet may possibly 
have been led to this conception by the Tree of Life {Gen. ii. 
9), or by the tree Yggdrasil of the Scandinavian mythology, 
which bound together heaven, earth, and hell. In the latter 
case it may have been intended to symbolize the mystic union 
of spiritual existence, every leaf or part of which is said to 
respond in praise to the breath of the Divine Spirit. In 
Rosseiti's picture founded on this poem, ' a glimpse is caught 
(above the figure of the Blessed Daniozel) of the groves of 
paradise, wherein, beneath the shade of the spreading branches 
of a vast tree, the newly-met lovers embrace and rejoice with 
each other, on separation over and union made perfect at 
last." (See Shairp's description of this picture in his Dojite 
Gabriel Rossetti, 251.) 

THE SEA LIMITS. 

576. This poem appeared in the volume of 1870. The 
sound within the shell, alluded to in the last stanza, is a 
favorite illustration with the poets: see the instances given in 
Stedman's Mature and Elements of Poetry, 255. 



WILLIAM MORRIS. 

573. William Morris, one of the most perfect represen- 
tatives of the aesthetic and archaic sympathies which have so 
largely affected the English art of the last half-century, was 
born at Walthamstow, near London, in 1834. At Oxford, 
where he was educated, he formed a lasting friendship with 
Edward Burne-Jones, the painter. After successively attempt- 
ing and abandoning painting and architecture, his artist-nature 
found in poetry a medium appaiently more suited to his 
powers, and his first book, Guenevere and Other Poems, ap- 
peared in 1858, the year in which Tennyson published the first 
of \\\s Idylls of the King. Unlike Tennyson, however, Morris, 
in his treatment of mediaeval orold-world themes, sought pure 
delight, as a respite from present problems, in a fair world of 
the past. The ugliness of modern life jarred on his beauty- 
.oviug nature, and in 1863, with Rossetti, Ford Maddox 
Brown, and Edward Burne-Jones, he founded in London an 



742 VICTORIAN VERSE 

establishment for household decoration. Morris steadfastly 
continued in the work of infusing a greater beauty into 
English life until the last, and his firm became a powerful 
agency for the spread of Pre-Raphaelite ideas. In spite of 
this and other interests he found time to produce an astonish- 
ing quantity of literary work. Among this we may mention 
The Eartldy Paradise, a series of twenty-four tales, which ap- 
peared between 1868 and 1870; his translations of the jEneid 
and the Odyssey; his version of Icelandic Sagas; his own sagas 
and mediaeval romances, which may be described as prose- 
poems; and various works illustrating or expounding his so- 
cialistic theories. It was a life of enormous labor, easily and 
buoyantly done. He died October 3, 1896. 

RUDYARD KIPLING. 

576. RuDYARD Kipling was born in Bombay, India, in 
1865. His first book of verse, Departmeyital Ditties, was pub- 
lished in 1886, Barrack-Room Ballads in 1891, and his Seven 
Seas in 1896. 

RECESSIONAL. 

This poem was written in 1897, in celebration of the sixtieth 
anniversary of Queen Victoria's reign. It appeared in the 
London Times in a place of honor immediately beneath a let- 
ter from the Queen. The Times remarked, in commenting 
editorially upon the poem : "At this moment of imperial ex- 
altation, Mr. Kipling does well to remind his countrymen 
that we have something more to do than to build battle- ships 
and multiply guns." Perhaps no English single poem since 
Tennyson's Grossing the Bar has won such an instantaneous 
and wide-spread recognition. 



INDEX OF TITLES 



PAGE 



Achitophel (Selection) Dryden. 143 

Adonais Shelley. 416 

Agincourt .Drayton. 83 

Ab ! Sunflower Blake. 271 

Ah, what avails the sceptered race Landor. 466 

Alexander's Feast Dryden. 147 

Andrea Del Sarto R. Browning. 521 

Apelles' Song Lyly. 56 

Apology, An {Earthly Paradise) Morris. 573 

Ariel's Soug ( The Tempest) Shakespeare. 76 

Argument lo Hesperides Herrick. 107 

Armour of Innocence, The Campion. 60 

As slow our ship Moore. 383 

Author's Resolution in a Sonnet, The Wither. 99 

Ballad, Alice Brand {Lady of the Lake) Scott. 362 

Ballade of Charitie Chatterton. 242 

Banks of Doon, The Burns. 290 

Bard, The Gray. 222 

Battle of Blenheim, The Southey. 356 

Battle of Ivry Macaulay. 477 

Battle of the Baltic. Campbell. 379 

Better Answer, A Frior. 155 

Blessed Damozel, The Rossetti. 565 

Bonuie George Campbell 18 

Bor> ier Ballad ( The Monastery) ScoU- 375 

Break, Break, Break Tennyson. 509 

Bridge of Sighs. The Hood. 472 

Bruce's Address to his Army at Bannockburn. . ..Burns. 289 

Bugle Song ( The Princess) Tennyson. 510 

Castaway, The Cowper. 262 

Character of a Happy Life, The Wotton. 66 

Cheerfulness Taught by Reason E. B. Browning. 541 

Chevy Chase 1 

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (Selections) Byron. 388 

Clear and Cool ( Water Babies) Kingsley. 547 

743 



744 IKDEX OF TITLES 



PAGE 

Cloud, The Shelley. 413 

Collar, The Herbert. 96 

Composed upon the Bridge near Calais. . . . Wordsworth. 330 

Composed upon Westminster Bridge Wordiworlh. 329 

Content Greene. 56 

Corinna's Going A-Maying Herrick. 107 

Cotter's Saturday Night, The Burns. 273 

Crossing the Bar Tennyson. 515 

County Guy {Quentin Durward) IScott. 376 

Courtier, The {Mother Bubberd's Tale) Spenser. 53 

Day of Days, The Morris. 575 

Death Bed. The Hood. 471 

Departed Friends Vaughan. 98 

Deserted Village, The Goldsmith. 227 

Dirge {Gymbeline) Shakespeare. 75 

Dirge in Gymbeline Gollins. 213 

Dirge, A {Contention of Ajax and Ulysses) Shirley. 103 

Disdain Returned , Garew. 104 

Don Juan (Selections) Byron. 403 

Dover Beach Arnold. 560 

Drawing Near the Light Morris. 576 

Edmund's Song (Rokeby) Scott. 366 

Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady Pope. 184 

Elegy upon the Death of Lady Markham, An. . .Donne. 88 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard Gray. 217 

Elixir, The Herbert. 95 

Epic, The (Introduction to Morte d' Arthur). . Tennyson. 495 

Epilogue from Asolando R. Browning. 538 

Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot Pope. 188 

Eve of St. Agnes, The Keats. 440 

Expostulation and Reply Wordsworth. 298 

Faerie Queene, The Spenser. 21 

Fortunati Nimium Campion. 61 

Garden, The Marvell. 134 

Geist's Grave Arnold. 558 

Good, Great Man, The Coleridge. 353 

Good Morrow T. Heywood. 59 

Grasshopper, The Cowley. 102 

Guardian Angel, The i?. Browning. 519 

Hag, The Herrick. 112 

Hark , Hark, the Lark Shakespeare. 75 



INDEX OF TITLES 745 



PAGE 

Harold's Song to Rosabelle {Bokeby) Scott. 360 

Harp that once Ihrougli Taia's Halls, The Moore. 384 

Helen of Kirconnel 19 

Hohenliuden Campbell. 378 

Home Tbouglits, from Abroad li. Browning. 518 

Hunting Song Scott. 372 

Hymn to God the Father, A Donne. 93 

II Penseroso Milton. 119 

In Memoriam (Selection) Tennyson. 511 

Introduction to Last Fruit Off an Old Tree Landor. 468 

Introduction (Songs of Innocence) Blake. 265 

Is there for Honest Poverty Burns. 291 

I wandered lonely as a cloud Wordsworth. 324 

Jock of Hazeldean Scott. 373 

La Belle Dame Saus Merci Keats. 461 

L' Allegro Milton. 115 

Lamb, The Blake. 266 

Lament, A Shelley. 439 

Last Sonnet, written 1820 Keats. 465 

Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey, 

Wordsworth. 293 

Lines written in Kensington Garden Arnold. 5« 2 

Locksley Hall Tennyson. 481 

London, 1802 Wordsworth. 328 

Lycidas Milton. 126 

Mac-Flecknoe Dryden. 137 

Madge Wildfire's Song {Heart of Midlothian) Scott. 374 

Mariners of England, Ye Campbell. 376 

Maud (Selections) Tennyson. 512 

Michael Wordsworth. 302 

Mild is the parting year and sweet Landor. 466 

Minstrel's Roundelay Chatterton. 240 

Morte d' Arthur Tennyson. 497 

Musical Instrument, A E. B. Browning. 539 

My days among the dead are past Southey. 358 

My heart leaps up Wordsworth. 317 

My Last Duchess R. Browning. 516 

Night Blake. 267 

Nymph's Reply to the Passionate Shepherd, The. Raleigh. 67 

Ode, On a Distant Prospect of Eton College Oray. 214 

Ode, On a Grecian Urn Keats. 459 



746 INDEX OF TITLES 



PAGE 



Ode, On the lutimations of Immortality Wordsworth. 318 

Ode, The Spacious Firmament Addison. 156 

Ode, To a Nightingale Keats. 455 

Ode, To Duty Wordsworth. 326 

Ode, To Evening Collins. 207 

Ode, To the West Wind Shelley. 406 

Ode written in the beginning of the year 1746. . . Collins. 213 

O mistress mine, where are you ro^xmugl .. Shakespeare. 74 

On a Girdle Waller. 113 

On a Lap-dog Oay. 159 

On Another's Sorrow Blake. 269 

On First Looking into Chapman's Homer Keats. 463 

On the Foregoing Divine Poems Waller. 114 

On the Grasshopper and Cricket Keats. 464 

On the Life of Man Beaumont. 65 

On the Loss of the Royal George Cowper. 261 

On the Receipt of My Mother's Picture Cowper. 257 

On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey Beaumont. 65 

Orsames' Song Suckling. 104 

O Sweet Content Dekker. 58 

O wert thou in the cauld blast Burns. 293 

Painter who Pleased Nobody and Everybody, The. Oay. 157 

Passionate Shepherd to His Love, The Marlowe. 57 

Passions, The, an Ode for Music Collins. 209 

Petition to Time, A Procter. 468 

Prospect, The E. B. Browning. 541 

Prospice B. Browning. 529 

Pulley, The Herbert. 94 

Qua cursum ventus Clough. 548 

Rabbi Ben Ezra B. Browning. 530 

Rape of the Lock, The Pope. 160 

Recessional Kipling. 576 

Red, Red Rose, A Burns. 291 

Retreate, The . . Vaughan. 97 

Rime of the Ancient Mariner, The Coleridge. 331 

Rule Britannia Thomson. 206 

Sands of Dee, The {Alton Locke) Kingsley. 546 

Sav not the struggle naught availeth Clough. 549 

Sea Dirge, A {Tfie Tempest) Shakespeare. 76 

Sea Limits, The Rossetti. 570 

Seasons, The Thomson. 195 

Self Dependence Arnold. 563 



IlfDEX OF TITLES ?47 



PAGE 

Shakspeare Arnold. 564 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways Wordsworth. 302 

She walks in beauty Byron. 386 

She was a phantom of delight Wordsworth. 325 

Sibylla Pahnifera Rossetti. 371 

Silvia Shakespeare. 73 

Simplex Munditiis Jonson. 70 

Sir Galahad Tennyson. 506 

Sir Patrick Speus 11 

Solitary Reaper, The Wordsworth. 317 

Song, Allan-A-Dale {Rokehy) Scott. 369 

Song, A weary lot is thine Scott. 368 

Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 22d November, 1687. Dryden. 145 

Song from The Saint's Tragedy, The Kingsley. 544 

Song, Go, lovely Rose Waller. 113 

Song, Men of England Campbell. 381 

Song of the Priest of Pan /. Fletcher. 63 

Song (Pippa Passes) B. Browning. 518 

Song, Sabrina Fair (Coinus) Milton. 125 

Song, She is not fair Hartley Coleridge. 469 

Song, Sweet Echo (Comus) Milton. 124 

Song, Sweetest Love, etc Bonne. 91 

Song, The Cavalier Scott. 370 

Song, To Cyntbia Jonson. 72 

Song, To Pan /. Fletcher. 64 

Song, To the Evening Star Gamphell. 382 

Sonnet, A Superscription Rossetti. 573 

Sonnet, Cyriack Skinner Milton. 133 

Sonnet XXXIII. Full many a glorious, etc. . Shakespeare. 81 

Sonnet VI, Go from me, etc E. B. Browning. 543 

Sonnet XLIII. How do I love thee, etc. .^. B. Browning. 544 
Sonnet XXXV, If I leave all for thee, etc. 

E. B. Browning. 543 

Sonnet LXIII, Inclusiveness Rossetti. 572 

Sonnet I. I thought once how, etc E. B. Browning. 542 

Sonnet, June 1816. To one who has been, etc. . . .Keats. 464 

Sonnet CXVI, Let me not, etc Shakespeare. 82 

Sonnet LX, Like as the waves, etc Shakespeare. 81 

Sonnet XL, Mark when she smiles, etc Spenser. 54 

Sonnet, On Chillon Byron. 387 

Sonnet X, On Death Donne. 83 

Sonnet LXXV, One day I wrote, etc Spenser. 54 

Sonnet, On His Blindness Milton. 132 

Sonnet, On his having arrived at the Age of twenty- 
three Milton. 131 

Sonnet, On Sleep Drummond. 79 



748 INDEX OF TITLES 



PAOE 

Sonnet, On the Late Massacre in Piedmont Milton. 132 

Sonnet XIX, Silent Noon Rossetti. 571 

Sonnet LXI, Since there's no help, etc Drayton. 79 

Sonnet LXXIII, That tune of year, etc. . . .SJiakespeare. 82 

Sonnet LI, To Delia Daniel. 78 

Sonnet, To Night Blanco White. 360 

Sonnet XXIX, When in disgrace, etc Shakespeare. 80 

Sonnet XXX, When to the sessions, etc.. .Shakespeare. 80 

Sonnet XXXI, With how sad steps Sidney. 77 

Stanzas for Music Byron. 385 

Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse Arnold. 551 

Stream of Life, The Clough. 550 

Tables Turned, The Word»worth. 299 

Take, oh, take those lips away Shakespeare. 74 

Taui O'Shanter Burns. 282 

Task, The (Selections) Cowper. 245 

Tears, Idle Tears {The Princsss) Tennyson. 509 

Three Fishers, The Kingsley. 545 

Three Years She Grew Wordsworth. 300 

Tiger, The Blake. 270 

Time Shelley. 437 

To a Child of Quality Five Years Old, MDCCI V. .Pwr. 154 

To Althea from Prison Lovelace. 106 

To a Mountain Daisy Burns. 280 

To a Mouse Burns. 279 

To a Skylark 8?ielley. 409 

To Autumn Keats. 460 

To Daffodils Herrick. Ill 

To Hester Lamh. 470 

To Lesbia . . Campion. 59 

To Lucasta on Going to the Wars Lovelace. 105 

To . Music when soft voices die, etc Shelley. 437 

To Night Shelley. 437 

To . One word, etc Shelley. 439 

To Primroses Filled with Morning Dew Herrick. 1 10 

To Robert Browning Landor. 468 

To the Divine Image Blake. 268 

To the Evening Star Blake. 265 

To the Memory of Shakspeare Jonson. 68 

To the Grasshopper and the Cricket Hwrtt. 465 

To the Muses Blake. 264 

To the Virgins, to make much of Time Herrick. Ill 

Triumph of Charis Jomon. 71 

Twa Sisters o' Binnorie, The 14 



INDEX OF TITLES 749 



PAGE 

Ulysses Tennyson. 493 

Under Mr. Milton's Picture. . . ." Dry den. 153 

Under the Greenwood Tree {As You Like It). 

Shakespeare. 73 

Universal Prayer Pope. 187 

Valediction Forbidding Mourning, A Donne. 90 

Vertue Herbert. 93 

Vote, A Cowley. 101 

Waly , Waly, love be bonny 13 

When I have borne in memory Wordsworth. 329 

With whom is no variableness Glough. 549 

Work 

Work without Hope Coleridge. 355 

World is too much with us, The Wordsworth. 330 

Written in Loudon, September 1802 Wordsworth. 328 

Yes, I write verses Landor. 467 

Youth and Age Coleridge. 354 



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Modern Political Orations. 

Edited by Leopold Wagner. i2mo, $1,00 net. 
Twenty-four speeches delivered in England, 1833-83. 

Lord Brougham on Negro Emancipation ; Macaulay on the People's 
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stone on the Beaconsfield Ministry ; Chamberlain on Liberal Aims ; 
Parnell on the Coercion Bill ; and other speeches by R. L. Sheil, Alex- 
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HENRY HOLT & CO., 29 W. 23d St., New York. 



^^ It covers almost every known phase of its subject y . . . and yet it ts 
compact and readable.^'— Outlook. 

LAVIGNAC'S MUSIC AND MUSICIANS 

By Professor ALBERT Lavignac of the Paris Conservatory, au- 
thor of " The Music Dramas of Richard Wagner." Edited for 
America by H. E. Krehbiel, author of "How to Listen to 
Music," and translated by William Marchant. With 94 
illustrations and 510 examples in musical notation, lamo. 
$3.00. (Descriptive circular free.) 

A brilliant, sympathetic, and authoritative work covering 
musical sound, the voice, instruments, construction aes- 
thetics, and history. Practically a cyclopedia of its subject, 
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IV. J. Henderson in N. Y. Times' Saturday Review : "A 
truly wonderful production . . . along and exhaustive ac- 
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tra, with some highly instructive remarks on coloring . . . 
harmony he treats not only very fully, but also in a new and 
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great thoroughness . . . it seems to have been his idea when 
he began to let no interesting topic escape. He even finds 
space for a discussion of the beautiful in music . . . The 
wonder is that the author has succeeded in making those 
parts of the book which ought naturally to be dry so read- 
able. Indeed, in some of the treatment of such topics as 
acoustics the professor has written in a style which can 
be fairly described as fascinating . . . harmonics h© has put 
before the reader more clearly than any other writer on the 
subject with whom we are acquainted. . . The pictures of 
the instruments are clear and very helpful to the reader . . . 
It should have a wide circulation. . . It will serve as a general 
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other works which constitute a complete directory of musical 
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portant books on music that has ever been published." 

*' One of the most important contributions yet made to literary 
history by an American scholar.''^ — Outlook. 

BEERS' ENGLISH ROMANTICISM— xviii. century 

By Professor Henry A. Beers of Yale. 2d impression. Gilt 
top. i2mo. $2.00. 

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The work of a man who has studied hard, but who has also 
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New York Times'' Saturday Review : " Remarkably pene- 
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New York Tribune : " No less instructive than readable." 

Nation: " Always interesting. . . On the whole, may be com- 
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iv'99 



